


Lacuna

by DoctorBilly



Series: Sea Glass and Tattoos [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Billyverse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:18:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1937112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBilly/pseuds/DoctorBilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy and Lestrade are in trouble. Dimmock is in trouble. Sherlock is back. </p><p>Tags: violence; rape; rohypnol; kidnapping; heroin relapse; hospitalisation; tattoos; a bit of cooking; possible eating disorder; gratuitous 'homes and gardens'</p><p>This story continues directly from "You are my only". It is a little darker. People get hurt, but there are some happy endings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade is injured. Billy has to return to London without him.

"Greg. Greg, it's all right. Stop fighting us Greg. We're trying to help you."

Lestrade hears the voice of his friend from a long way away. He has been hearing it for hours, he thinks.

"John?"

He forces himself awake. He is in hospital. _Why_? The memories flood back and he heaves, vomits into a bowl that John Watson is holding.

"Try to relax, Greg. Are you in pain?"

Watson frowns. There shouldn't be pain. Lestrade has been given a spinal block. He should be numb, in spite of the major injury he has sustained.

"John. Is Billy okay?"

Lestrade's voice is small and shaky.

"He's fine, Greg. He's outside. Do you want to see him?"

"No. Not Billy. I don't want him seeing… John, I need to see Mycroft. Don't let Billy in here yet. Please. I don't want him to see me like this."

Watson decides the best thing is to humour his friend for now.

"All right, Greg. Try to keep still now. I'll get him. I won't bring Billy."

"John. Wait. I can't feel anything…"

Watson pats his hand. _He thinks he's paralysed._  

"You've had a spinal anaesthetic, Greg. It numbs everything below the waist."

"He had a machete, John. He said he was going to castrate me. Did…"

Lestrade sobs, starts to panic again.

"He didn't, Greg. You've still got your wedding tackle. There's a lot of damage to your abdominal muscles though, and your left thigh. From the pattern of injuries, it looks like he tried to cut you in half. Good job he didn't know how to use his weapon properly. Amateur."

Lestrade laughs a little hysterically. The laugh turns into a wail.

"You're not telling me everything."

"All right. He sliced your femoral artery. You lost a huge amount of blood and went into shock. _If Billy hadn't acted quickly to put pressure on it…_ We had to deal with that first, Greg. I've told you about the muscle damage. He nicked your urethra, up close to your abdomen, just at the base of your penis. That's been repaired, but you'll have a catheter for a while…"

"John…"

"There's damage to the suspensory ligament. That's what holds the penis up when it's erect. It can be repaired Greg. That's what the spinal block is for. We can't keep you under general anaesthetic too long."

"So he did what he said."

"No. Even without the ligament repair you'll still get erections. They just won't be as perky as before."

"Perky."

Lestrade flushes.

"Is my dick going to be any use? If it's not… perky?"

"Greg. You're going in for the reconstructive surgery this afternoon. I can pretty much guarantee perkiness once you've recovered. Trust me. I'm a doctor."

Lestrade huffs out a pitiful attempt at a laugh.

"Get me Mycroft."

*****

"Did they get him, Mycroft?"

"They did not. He managed to evade capture. I'm not quite sure how. He shouldn't have been able to escape. My people are deployed to search. Sherlock is assisting."

"Fuck. Mycroft, he might go after Billy. You need to dissociate Billy from me. If Billy's not linked to me he'll be safer. You need to get him away from here quickly. Send Dimmock back with him. He's got a quick head on his shoulders."

"Yes. Of course, I will arrange for him to be taken back to London straight away. But how can he be dissociated from you? You are his fiancé."

"Tell him I've broken off the engagement. Tell him I don't want to see him. Make him believe it. Dimmock can help him get over me. Seduce him or something…"

He breaks off, crying.

"I can't see him. I won't be able to tell him if I see him. Do this for me please? He's got to be kept safe. I couldn't bear it if Knox went after him because of me…"

*****

It is January 2nd. Bill Wiggins has held the title of "Doctor" for a little more than a week.

"I'm really sorry, Mr Dimmock. Your holiday's been a disaster…"

"Not your fault, Dr Wiggins. I can't believe they let the bastard go so quickly after the first time he had a go at you. The Scottish legal system is fucked. Mr Holmes was right to call me in. I'm glad I was close enough to be useful, even if I did get shot."

Mycroft Holmes had wasted no time getting Billy back to London. He had swiftly dispatched assistants to St Andrews to pick up Billy's guitar, sketchbook and overnight things; and to Dundee, to collect similar items, minus guitar and sketchbook, for Detective Inspector Dimmock. Within minutes of leaving the hospital, Billy and Dimmock had been in a helicopter, and within two and a half hours, they had landed on the roof of New Scotland Yard.

Billy and Dimmock walk into the outer office of the serious crimes command.

"Happy New Year, sir."

"Happy New Year, sergeant. Sir, this is Sally Donovan, she's DCI Lestrade's sergeant. Donovan, this is Dr Bill Wiggins. I'm not at liberty to say more than that at the moment. Have you got a parcel for me? Should have arrived around lunchtime?" 

"Yes sir. Came by special delivery. Government courier. Sir, we weren't expecting you back for another week…"

"I'm not back. Just stopped by to pick up the parcel. Do you think you could do me a huge favour and get us a couple of coffees? We'll need to use Lestrade's office for about half an hour."

"Okay, sir. But I'm not making a habit of it."

Dimmock ushers Billy into Lestrade's small, glass-walled office. He looks around, curious to see where his fiancé works.

"It's a bit plain…"

"Yeah. He's never been one for decoration, at least, not as long as I've known him."

Dimmock opens the package. Car keys. Parking permit for Camden Lock. Debit card and PIN. Two iPads, one black, one white, with headphones and chargers. He looks at the keys. Not electronic. Not a new car then. The fob is a plain metal disc, embossed with a registration number.

His phone pings several times in rapid succession.

*** To: TD: Inspector. Look at the notes in your iPad. It is the mini one. MH***

*** To: TD: Bill should not be left alone. He has already mentioned needing "something". Please make sure he does not have an opportunity to find anything illegal to take away his pain. MH***

*** To: TD: Try to persuade him to attend his interview at Brunel on the 6th. It is marked in both your calendars. MH***

*** To: TD: The car is parked in the underground garage. MH***

Dimmock hands the bigger iPad to Billy, who puts it in his despatch bag. He opens and checks his own.

A mooring address for the "SeaGlass" at Camden Lock. A list of recommended shops, restaurants and nightlife. A campus map of Brunel University. Background information on Billy's potential line manager. Photographs of a houseboat and its surroundings.

Dimmock and Billy finish their coffee, Billy shuddering. It is nothing like Lestrade's coffee. They leave the office, Dimmock telling Sergeant Donovan that he will be away for at least another week, possibly longer. Dimmock waves Billy towards the staircase. Lestrade doesn't use the lift, and his colleagues have got into a similar habit.

They walk rapidly down to the car park, carrying their bags and Billy's guitar case. Dimmock looks around for the car that matches the registration number on his key fob. Blinks when he spots it. Can't stop himself grinning.

"It's a fucking DeLorean."

Dimmock walks warily around the car, pops the gull wings open, throws his overnight bag onto the back seat. Billy piles his gear in with Dimmock's, then they both climb into the front seats.

Dimmock pats Billy's knee.

"You all right?"

"I expect I will be. I didn't think there really were cars like this. Thought they were science fiction. Where are you taking me?"

"Camden Lock. Apparently, there's a houseboat…"

"Oh. Yeah. The SeaGlass. I didn't think it was habitable yet. I thought we'd be going to a hotel. Or your place."

"I've only got a bedsit. Only just enough room for me. This all looks like a directive to take you to this boat. I'm to stay with you for a while, sir. Just till Mr Holmes is sure you're all right."

Billy sighs with relief. His shoulders have been stiff with tension all day. Now he sags, closing his eyes.

"I was scared you'd leave me on my own. Thanks, Mr Dimmock."

*****

Billy looks around the boat. It is in good condition on the outside. The paintwork looks as if it has not been done too long ago, mainly white with the name "SeaGlass" painted on bow and stern. The deck is varnished, handrails are solid, and the wheelhouse looks like a new addition.

Inside, some work has clearly been done, but more is needed. The kitchen range and sink have been cleaned up and look usable. There is electricity, and a pile of logs for the wood burning stove in the living area.

"Mr H said I would have a free hand in doing up the inside. He told me I have a good eye. I thought it would be in a worse state than this, though. I knew he'd got some people working on it. He must have hurried them up."

Billy's phone rings.

"It's Mr H. Hello?"

 _"Hello Bill. How do you like your boat?_ "

"It looks okay. In better nick than I expected. Mr Dimmock's been very kind. How is he, Mr H? "

Billy's voice breaks.

" _He's in surgery, Bill. Last night's repair work was successful, but he needs a further operation today. Try not to worry. Your prompt actions saved his life, and John is the very best possible consultant for this type of procedure. He has seen similar injuries in his army career, has performed surgery successfully in the field. The medical team here are lucky to have him on hand. I will call you as soon as I hear more_."

"Why couldn't I stay there with him?"

 _"Knox is still at large, Bill. He eluded capture somehow. He has hurt you before, we need to keep you safe. And Gregor was very insistent that you go to Brunel. Try not to worry too much. I will speak to you soon. I will be sending someone round later with some things for you, and have taken the liberty of providing dinner for you and Detective Inspector Dimmock. It will arrive with your other things. Try to relax. I will speak to you soon. Good afternoon, Bill_."

"Thanks, Mr H. Goodbye."

"You didn't do much talking, there."

Dimmock's stomach growls.

"I'm starving. What say we find somewhere to eat?"

"Mr H is sending us a food parcel. And some other stuff."

Dimmock's phone pings.

***To:TD: I will contact you later to discuss matters when you have settled in. The DeLorean is mine, but you are now insured as a named driver. Use the debit card to buy petrol. MH***

*****

"Holmes thinks of everything. How does he do it?"

Mycroft's assistant had arrived, as promised, with "things" for them. In a van.

Among the 'things' was a Heckler & Koch handgun and holster (which Dimmock hissed at and appropriated immediately). There was also a small Fender practice amplifier (Billy smiled at that, the first proper smile Dimmock had noticed all day).

There were other personalised items, pyjama pants, clothing, toiletries, Ajaccio Violets and Rose, both from Trumpers, obviously Mycroft's favourite brand. Billy had quickly claimed the violet-scented products, Dimmock had scowled at being given rose-scented anything.

There was bedding, including a mosquito net and an oversized sheepskin, which Billy smiled at, recalling nights spent under a similar one, with Lestrade.

The promised "dinner" had included a case of Barolo,which Billy had learned to love; another of Prosecco, Dimmock's sparkler of choice; two bottles of vodka. There was also a case of sparkling water. The actual dinner had been a good lamb tagine, with flatbread and fennel salad.

"He's observant, and I think he probably does that mind palace thing 'Lock does, keeps a catalogue in his head. He gave us stuff like this went we went to Scotland."

Billy yawned.

"I feel a bit sleepy. Um, Mr Dimmock , what are we going to do about …"

The only furniture on the boat is a mattress on the floor in the bedroom. They have been sitting on it to eat.

"We'll have to make the best of this for tonight, sir. I think we'd better put that mosquito net up. We're on the water, don't want to get bitten. We've got new sheets and we can use that rug to keep warm. Do you think you'll be all right sharing? We can go out and look around for some furniture tomorrow if you like. We'll need a table and chairs at least. Another bed or a couch, or both…"

"I think I'll be all right sharing tonight, Mr Dimmock . I don't really want to be on my own. I'm really tired now though. Do you mind if I lie down for a while?"

*****

Dimmock jumps as a hand touches his shoulder. He pulls his headphones off, twisting to see who is there.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"Sorry sir. Didn't really notice it getting dark. Listening to some tunes…"

Dimmock had had a long phone call with Mycroft. He had poured himself a glass of vodka, sat on the floor against the living room wall, plugged in his iPad, using headphones so as not to disturb Billy, and has been mindlessly online for hours, looking at Twitter, Facebook, YouTube. He is cold, stiff and has pins and needles in his backside from sitting on the cold floor.

"You must be freezing. Shall I make some tea or something?"

"No thanks, sir. I think I probably just need to get some sleep."

He stands, stretching out his shoulders and spine, wincing as his wounded arm twinges. He walks into the small, newly tiled bathroom, eyes narrowed against the fluorescent strip lights. He hisses as he sees that blood has soaked through his sleeve from the bullet wound.

"Sir, have we got a first aid kit in amongst that stuff Mr Holmes sent?"

"Yes. What's wrong?"

Billy is in the bathroom with him in moments, carrying a portable medical kit.

"I think I've probably popped a stitch. Can you help me?"

Billy helps Dimmock to pull his arm out of his jacket and shirt sleeve, then unwraps the bandage covering the wound. He gasps when he sees the damage the bullet has done. A through wound, bigger on the back of Dimmock's arm where the bullet has exited. The surrounding skin is bruised and a bit swollen.

"I didn't realise it was so bad. You didn't say anything. Has this been hurting all day?"

"On and off. It needs a bit of glue in it, I expect. Can you do it for me?"

"We should call Dr Watson and check with him first. Just in case…"

"All right, but it's a bit late…"

"He won't mind."

Billy makes the call via FaceTime on Dimmock's iPad.

"What's up T? Bloody hell. Are you losing much blood?"

"No, Dr Watson, it's just Dr Wiggins panicking. I've overworked the arm a bit today and it's made it seep a bit. Will it be all right to glue it?"

Billy holds the iPad so that Watson can get a good look at the damage.

"Derma-flex should do it. I assume you have some, or you wouldn't be asking. Bill, prop the iPad up somewhere so I can see what you're doing. You'll need to rinse the wound with antiseptic first, then dry it with a sterile cloth. Then carefully drip the glue in and push the sides of the wound together. Bandage firmly afterwards."

Billy follows Watson's instructions, wincing in sympathy when Dimmock swears as the disinfectant stings.

"That should do it. T, try not to go crazy with that arm tomorrow. No driving, no heavy lifting. No wanking. Just be sensible. Call me if you have any problems"

"No wanking? Really? Have a heart."

Watson snorts.

"Use the other hand then. Goodnight, T. Billy, Greg's asleep. He's okay. I'll call you tomorrow. Goodnight."

Billy sighs and scuttles out of the bathroom. His ears are faintly pink.

Dimmock pulls his jacket and shirt all the way off, rinses the bloodied clothes under the tap,and hangs them over the bath. He rummages through the clothes Mycroft has sent, finding pyjama trousers and a t-shirt which he changes into before heading to the bedroom. Billy is standing at the window, looking out at the street lights.

"It's weird. We're on the water, but I can hear traffic. Doesn't feel quite right."

"You'll soon get use to it. I need to go to bed, sir. How are we going to do this? Do you want to sleep head to foot? Or will you be okay if we both have our pillows at the same end? I've had to change out of my clothes because of the blood, but you can keep yours on if you're more comfortable. No boots though. That's an absolute rule. I'll need to sleep on my right side, because of this arm."

"No boots. Okay."

"All right then. Elbow me if I snore."

He climbs into bed, pulling sheets and sheepskin up over his shoulders. Falls asleep in seconds.

Billy finds his own pyjama trousers and changes into them. Thinks hard, then pulls his jumper off, leaving his t-shirt on. He waits until he is really sure Dimmock is asleep before climbing into his own side of the bed.

*****

Lights flash, red, blue. There is smoke, thick, choking. A tight press of sweaty bodies. Music. Billy can feel panic rising. Something is wrong. He hears the scream from miles away. A burbling scream of terror.

_***Greg?*** _

He pushes through the crowd. Someone is holding on to him, holding him back. He shakes them off, angrily, keeps going, pulled on by the scream.

"Greg! Where are you?"

He runs, sobbing, the scream reeling him in. There. On the ground. Lestrade. Blood. Far too much blood. He slips in it, falls. Scrabbles forward, hands on his lover, trying to stop the pumping, pumping blood. Blood up to his elbows. Lestrade screaming, screaming.

An explosion next to his ear deafens him. He can't hear the screaming any more, but can smell the blood, taste it in the air, blood and gunpowder. He knows he is screaming himself, but can't hear his own voice. Only blue lights flashing now. Only blackness…

"It's all right, it's all right. Nightmare…"

Hard arms around him. A hand stroking his hair.

"Greg?"

"Greg's all right. You saved him. It's okay. You've had a nightmare."

Dimmock is holding him tight. _Dimmock_? Billy rolls off the mattress, runs to the bathroom. Vomits. And again. Dry-heaves for what seems like hours. Dimmock hands him a glass of water.

"Here. Sip this. It'll help your throat. You were screaming. Flashback?"

"Yeah. I was there again. Blood up to my elbows…I couldn't stop the blood… you got shot…"

"Yes. But I'm okay. You're okay. Greg's going to be okay."

Dimmock is worried. Billy has gone too quiet and still, glazed eyes not really seeing the room he is in.

"Talk to me, sir."

"Stop calling me sir. It's freaking me out."

"All right. What shall I call you?"

"Bill. My name's Bill. Why do people call you T?"

"Short for Theodore."

"Theodore. Why not Theo? Did you decide on T yourself?"

"No. Lestrade gave me that. Saw how everyone sniggered when someone called me Dora…"

"He calls me Billy. I'm still not used to being Dr Wiggins. What do you call yourself?"

"Dimmock, mostly, at work. Theo, otherwise. Greg and John call me T. Mycroft calls me Theodore. He's the only one."

"T's a bit weird. Theodore Roosevelt used to be called Teddy. I could call you that. Or Ted?"

"Bill and Ted?"

They both laugh. Even Billy has heard of Bill and Ted.

"Theo then, if you don't mind. Sorry I woke you up. It was so real. I could smell the blood."

"You can probably smell it on me, where I got shot. And the sirens outside probably triggered you. Are you okay now?"

"Yeah. But I'm twitchy. Craving… I need to go and see a man about a tattoo in the morning. Will you come with me?"

Dimmock knows about Billy's strategies for dealing with his old addiction. Mycroft's call has given him a lot to think about.

"Yeah. Of course I will. Now, will you be able to sleep?"

"I think so. Will you hold me? Just so I know I'm not on my own?"

Dimmock wraps his arms around Billy's waist. One hand on his shoulder, the other on his abdomen. Billy gradually relaxes and sleeps.

Dimmock lies awake for a long time, thinking about the events of the last two days.

He had been in Scotland for the new year, visiting relatives, a duty visit. He had escaped and gone to a karaoke club in Dundee to let off some steam, and been dumbfounded when Lestrade * _Lestrade_?* had jumped up on stage to sing an ABBA song with a pretty young man, half his age.

He had tried to shrink back into the shadows, but had been spotted and grabbed in a bear hug. Shock had been followed by further shock when Lestrade had introduced the young man as Dr Bill Wiggins, his fiancé.

Things had started to go bad when the young man had turned a white face to Lestrade and whispered " _Knox_ ". Lestrade had forced his way across the dance floor and out of the club, his fiancé and Dimmock following.

They had reached the door when they heard unmistakeable sounds of violence coming from the alleyway at the side of the building. Three men had Lestrade on the ground. One of them, blond, Knox, Dimmock found out later, was snarling over him. There had been a bright flash of steel, then another, and Lestrade had started screaming. _A man shouldn't scream like that_ , Dimmock remembered thinking.

He had tried to keep Lestrade's fiancé back, but had been shrugged off. The young man was stronger than he looked, he had knocked the blond assailant aside, fallen in a puddle of Lestrade's blood and tried to stem the obvious arterial bleeding from a slash wound on Lestrade's upper thigh.

Billy had screamed for an ambulance. Screamed for Dimmock to get his phone from his pocket and hit all the speed dial numbers. Screamed at Lestrade not to die. One of the assailants had pulled out a gun and aimed at Lestrade's fiancé. Dimmock had knocked him out of the way, had taken a bullet through the fleshy part of his arm for his trouble.

Police cars and helicopters and armed men had appeared. And faces Dimmock knew. Sherlock Holmes. _How_? and John Watson. They had all been airlifted to a hospital. Dimmock didn't know which one, but it had the look of a military facility of some sort.

Mycroft Holmes had been there, had thanked him for helping. Had explained about a previous attack that Knox had been involved in. Had given him the job of guarding Bill Wiggins.

A local uniformed inspector, _Logan_ , Dimmock recalled, had brought tea, made sure that Dimmock was patched up, had spoken about Knox's apparent obsession with Lestrade, had taken charge of cleaning Wiggins up. The young man was covered in blood, elbow deep from where he had tried to help Lestrade. He had done it, though. Had saved his lover's life.

John Watson had come from the emergency room to talk to Wiggins, to explain that Knox's blade had sliced transversely from the right hip to mid-thigh on the left leg, that he would need extensive surgery, but was expected to make a full recovery.

Lestrade had asked to speak to Dimmock. He had been semi-sedated, prepped for surgery. In his drugged-up state, Lestrade had cried, asked Dimmock to look after his Billy for him. Had claimed Billy was in danger because of his link to him. Had asked Dimmock to help Billy come to terms with losing his lover. Had instructed Dimmock to tell Billy the engagement was off.

Dimmock has not followed that instruction.


	2. Ink and needles; pie and mash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy gets a new tattoo

"That was the best bacon sandwich I've had for a long time"

Dimmock sighs with contentment, leans back from the table, arms behind his head as he stretches. They had got up early and found a cafe not too far from the boat. It had not been on Mycroft's list of recommended eating places. _Bacon sandwiches and builder's tea are probably not on Mycroft's recommended list of things to eat_ , Dimmock thinks.

"Now, what's the plan?"

"Market first. You need a different coat. You look like a copper. I can't be seen wandering around Camden with a copper. People know me. Once you've got a coat, or a jacket, we can go down to Camden Passage for vintage stuff. It will be crowded. At least we don't need to drive, so we can eat later on in the Camden Head. They're retro. Scampi in a basket. They do really good draught cider."

Billy is on home ground again, his anxiety beginning to ebb.

"Do you want to see your tattoo bloke first?"

"After the market. The studio's down by the Angel, so we can pop in there before we go to the Passage. I might need to make an appointment and go back later. That reminds me, I need to take my flash…"

Dimmock is thinking about how they will get the SeaGlass properly habitable. A mattress on the floor is not the most comfortable way of spending a night. He taps his finger on the note he has made to himself in his phone. He is an inveterate list-maker, a trait that has helped him to close case after case, and rise to the rank of Detective Inspector frighteningly early in his career.

"We need to get some blankets. That fleece is brilliant, but my feet kept sticking out. Yours must have, too. Your legs are a lot longer than mine."

Dimmock notices Billy blushing, looking anywhere but at him.

"Sorry, Bill. I assumed… it's not supposed to be for long. Do you want to reorganise the sleeping arrangements? We could see if we can get a hammock. Need to make sure the ceiling hooks are fixed properly, though."

"Sleeping with you was fine, Theo. I really don't want to sleep by myself. I've not slept by myself for six months. It's just that Greg is really tactile. He's made me a bit touchy-feely as well. I'm used to the feel of him next to me. I might get a bit too snuggly if I forget it's not him in the bed. Punch me if I do something inappropriate."

It is Dimmock's turn to blush.

"Er. Yeah. You too."

*****

"Don't you recognise me, Marco?"

Billy's tattoo artist squints, looks closer.

"Bill? Is that you? Fuck, mate. You've scrubbed up into a pretty boy. What happened?"

"Long story, Marco. I want some more ink. Any chance of fitting me in?"

"Will you put on a show in the window? I'll do it now if you will. Trade's a bit slow. People are not showing off their skin this time of year. Too cold. "

"Okay. It's colour this time. Left shoulder blade. I've got the flash. And a sketch for placement."

"Your mate want one, too?"

Dimmock is looking around with interest. He's never been in an actual tattoo parlour before.

"Not today. Maybe one day. I want to watch, though. Is that all right?"

"You and the rest of Islington, mate. This is a masterpiece in progress. Pity we're not doing his arse again today. That was a sight to see."

The tattoo artist grins a shark grin that would have rivalled Lestrade's best, if Lestrade had been there.

Dimmock leans into Billy. Whispers. "Your _arse_? Are you mad?"

"I'll show you a picture later. As Marco says, it's a masterpiece in progress. Watch and learn."

"Right then Bill. Where's this flash?"

The tattoo artist takes the drawing from Billy. Peers at it, lips pursing.

"It's a bit complex, isn't it? How do you want it positioned? Got a sketch?"

Billy shows him a placement sketch, and he nods.

"Okay. I'll scan and soak this and well get started. Let's get your shoulder shaved first."

Billy takes off his coat, jumper and t-shirt, hands them and his bag to Dimmock to look after. Dimmock gapes as Billy's angel wing tattoo is partially revealed. _How far down down does that go?_

Billy sits astride an adjustable chair in the window of the parlour, facing backwards, leaning his abdomen, chest and cheek on the high back of the chair. He has done this before, he doesn't hesitate, knows what to do. The tattoo artist adjusts the side pieces of the chair so that Billy can rest on it in a comfortable position for both artist and client. The chair is positioned so that passers by can see the procedure.

"Do you want a seat mate? This'll take a fair bit of time. Don't want you fainting."

He positions a chair for Dimmock so that he will be able to see what is happening, then shaves the fine, downy, almost-invisible hair from Billy's shoulder. The shaving is followed by a scrub with antiseptic, and a change of gloves for the artist. Wearing the new gloves, he opens bottles of black ink, and pours them into the tattoo machine reservoirs. The next step is to apply the flash transfer to Billy's skin.

Another change of gloves, and the artist begins to ink the outline of the tattoo. He works fast, pressing hard. The lines are very black, and bleed here and there.

Dimmock bites his lip. This is clearly hurting Billy a lot. He groans whenever the artist draws a long line, goose pimples stand up on his back, and a sheen of sweat appears on his upper lip. The artist roughly cleans the inked lines with antiseptic as he goes. A new wipe for each cleaning, new gloves when he changes ink and needles for filling. Billy's pupils are fully dilated by the time the artist is halfway through the shading, and he has started to shake.

The artist notices, leans on Billy to keep him still, his own elbow on Billy's right shoulder, his knee up on the seat behind Billy, pressed against his backside; snaps his fingers for more gloves. Continues.

The tattoo takes three hours to complete. By the time the artist has finished, Billy is in subspace. Dimmock is appalled. He has never seen anything like it.

The artist carefully wipes the blood from the tattoo, working gently now, stroking the antiseptic wipes over Billy's skin. He undoes the restraint and gently helps Billy to sit up, bringing him back.

"He really gets off on it, don't he, squire? I don't normally do as much as this at once for him. Learned my lesson the first time he came. We had to let him lie down in the back room for the rest of the day. I learned how much he can take. Going this deep wouldn't be good for him if he was on his own, I only did this much because you're here to look after him. I'll just wrap it in cling and you can get him dressed. Take him for a cup of tea. Load it up with sugar. He'll be himself again in an hour or so. Was it you cleaned him up? Nice job, whoever it was. Look after him."

"You knew what it would do to him…"

"He comes when he needs a fix, bad. I know him. It helps him stay off the H. Alternative would be cutting. He hasn't had to do that yet. Hope he never has to. He's got lovely skin. I do it for him for free. He lets the public watch-that's advertising for me. And he draws me beautiful flash."

*****

"Here you are, love. Pie and mash, two teas."

The waitress smiles, nodding towards Billy.

"He looks as if he could do with it."

"Yeah. Tough morning. Thanks."

Billy has asked to go to Manze's in Chapel Market. They are  sitting in a booth, wooden pews, white marble and cast iron table. The pie and mash shop has been there for generations, and it still looks much the same as it must have done when it was built. The menu is much the same, as well. Pie and mash, liquor, jellied eels. Billy used to come here occasionally with Lestrade, back in the days before Scotland, before everything changed.

Dimmock pushes the plate of food in front of Billy, who is slumped in the corner of the booth, his head nestled on the inspector's shoulder. Billy smiles dreamily, sits up and starts eating as if he hasn't seen food for a fortnight.

"I love pie and mash shops. All the marble and the mirrors…"

He pulls a sketchbook out of his bag and opens it to a blank page. Still eating, fork in his left hand, he starts drawing with his right. In a few minutes, he has an image of himself and Dimmock, their reflections in the mirror that cover the wall beside the booth they sit in.

"How can you do that so quickly? That's a really good picture. Can I look through your book? Is your other tattoo in it?"

"Yeah. All right. There's a sketch of the tattoo at the back. From a photo Marco took. The actual flash is too big for these pages. Don't judge me."

Dimmock turns to the back pages of the sketchbook. Whistles through his teeth.

"Bloody hell, Billy. I saw a bit of this when you were having the new one. how do you manage to keep it hidden?"

"Do you like it?"

"Christ, Billy. It's spectacular. Did you think I wouldn't like it?"

"Not everyone likes ink. You looked really pissed off when you brought me in here…"

"I'm worried about the effect the process has on you. You were really out of it for a while. It looked really painful."

"That's the point. It gets the endorphins going, the adrenaline. It gets me high. You watched. Did it turn you on?"

"No. I hated it."

"Good. I'm glad. Means you won't let me go too far. I really needed it today. Thanks for not stopping me."

Dimmock pages back through the sketchbook.

Himself, asleep, arm bandaged, t-shirt ridden up revealing bare torso, sheepskin covering his hips; Lestrade, dancing; Lestrade, cooking; Lestrade, squatting against a wall, bass in his hands; Logan and Mycroft, on a beach, somewhere. _St_ _Andrews_?; Watson, cleaning a cut on Sherlock's face, _that must be recent, Sherlock looks older…_ ; Lestrade in full biker regalia…

"Um, Billy?"

Billy is concentrating on his tea. Not looking at him. Flushed and dreamy.

Dimmock strokes Billy's cheek, runs fingers down to his chin, pushes up a little to make Billy look at him. Billy closes his eyes.

"Look at me, Billy, please. The one of me. It's really good. But a bit…Do you want to talk about this?"

"I just draw what I see. I'll stop if you don't like it."

"What's not to like? There's a lot of Lestrade…"

Billy laughs, the laughter turning into a sob.

"Yeah. What am I going to do, Theo? He wouldn't see me…"

*****

"That's perfect, Theo. It's exactly what I've got in my head"

They are in Camden Passage, wandering round antique and vintage shops for furnishings. Billy has bought a rusty iron bedstead and a shabby chesterfield sofa, arranging to have them delivered to the houseboat. Dimmock has been poking through a pile of Moroccan-style junk and has found a large glass and dull brass lantern.

"Where's it for?"

"The bedroom. It'll clean up really nicely. Look. The glass is amber and red. I'll wire it up. It'll be brilliant."

"You okay to do the wiring?"

"Lights are really easy. Electricity's just physics, Theo. I'm a scientist, remember? We can take this with us. I'll carry it. If you did, you'd be banging it against the ground. You can carry the bag with the blankets."

He smiles. Being tall has its advantages. The shops are closing as they make their final purchases. An old kitchen table, needing restoring; two non-matching carver chairs; a pair of old wooden cinema seats.

"Well. Well have somewhere to sit, at least."

Dimmock laughs.

"Now let's find this pub. I could really murder a beer."

*****

_"I have nothing further to report, Inspector. I am sorry. Sherlock is out searching, and Logan is helping him, but he has slipped past us. I will call you as soon as I can. Look after Bill. Don't leave him alone. We'll speak soon. Goodbye."_

"Was that Mr H?"

Billy looks up from his iPad, where he has been searching for vintage, or vintage-looking, hammocks. He has found one he likes on eBay. Extra-wide, two people could share it easily. Macramé, thick cream rope, with fringes. It has a hippyish look to it. He clicks to buy it. He has become adept at spending money. Sometimes it frightens him how easy it is. He remembers the years he spent broke and squatting, and shivers.

"Is Greg all right?"

"Yeah. The surgery went well, but it'll be a while before they know how much functionality he has. Sherlock and Logan are still looking for Knox. I don't fancy his chances if Sherlock finds him first. He seems to have a soft spot for Greg. We can contact John if we need to."

"Okay. Will you help me clean the tattoo? I can't reach it all."

"'Course. What do you need me to do?"

"Can you wipe it over lightly with an antiseptic wipe and smear on a very thin layer of Savlon? Then it'll need to be bandaged so I don't scratch at it while I'm asleep. Don't rub hard, you could disturb the ink. It'll be raised and feel weird…"

Dimmock takes the first aid kit into the bathroom

"Come in here. The light's better."

Billy joins him, turning his back. Dimmock leans in close, hums.

"God, you smell amazing. What is that?"

"That violet stuff. I had some in Scotland. I really like it."

"Mmm. Me too. It's distracting. Let me look at this tattoo. I'll need to peel off the cling…"

The tattoo is crusted with dried blood, the skin around the raised lines is reddened, but not hot to the touch. Dimmock gently wipes the blood away, then smears the new work with Savlon cream, lingering a little longer than absolutely necessary. He replaces the cling film with a clean sheet, then carefully wraps a clean bandage from the first aid kit around Billy's shoulder and arm.

"Flex your arm. Is that okay?"

"Yes. Didn't hurt at all. Thanks. We'd better look at your arm while we're here. Take your shirt off."

Dimmock strips to the waist, carefully not noticing Billy's blush, and unwraps his bandage. It is clean. The wound is dry and the skin cool.

"It looks fine. Let's give it a wipe over and put the bandage back. You'll probably be able to leave it off tomorrow, but best to keep it on tonight "

Billy does the honours with the antiseptic, rebandaging quickly. They go to bed. Billy lies down on his stomach on the mattress, trying not to put weight on his shoulder. He sighs. Wriggles his toes.

"I feel relaxed tonight. The craving has gone. I expect I'll feel guilty later, though."

"Yeah. Guilt's a kind of default when someone you love gets hurt. Even though it's not your fault and you've got nothing to feel guilty about".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tattoo needles have settings to prevent them being pushed too deeply into the skin. Marco can't actually harm Billy when he tattoos him like this. 
> 
> Pie and mash shops are a London tradition. The pies are filled with minced meat (possibly beef, but who knows?), and are served with mashed potato. 'Liquor' is a bright green parsley sauce.


	3. It's over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy gets a job. A gang gets busted. Life goes on.

"There. Switch it on, let's see what it looks like."

Billy has spent the last three hours cleaning, polishing, rewiring and fitting the Moroccan lamp he had bought in Camden. It had been dark brown, corroded and filthy, but a fierce application of Brasso and elbow grease has revealed gleaming brass pierced work panels, inset with glittering glass in shades of amber, pale topaz, rose and garnet. It is larger than most lamp fittings, and Billy has decided against hanging it centrally, fearing he will knock his head on it. Instead, it hangs in a corner of the bedroom, to one side of the main window, and scatters shards of coloured light around the room.

"It looks good, Bill."

"Yeah. I knew it would. We had a couple of these in Scotland. These are Greg's colours. They're like his diamond. Golden and warm. I'm going to leave the bed rusty, paint clear matt varnish over the rust, and keep everything else in here white. Except maybe the floor. I could stain that really dark. And maybe the shutters as well. Don't know yet. Maybe I'll stick with white. I'll need to get a bedside table of some sort…you'll have to come back and see it when it's all finished…"

Dimmock has been busy while Billy has been cleaning and wiring up the lamp. Furniture had arrived mid-morning, and he has spent a couple of hours putting the iron bedstead together, wiping loose rust off with a damp cloth, and making up the bed with fresh sheets, a pile of blankets and the sheepskin. He has rehung the mosquito net to drape over the head of the bed. It looks like a Nordic fantasy. He is a bit worried about sleeping in it. The mattress on the floor had seemed less bed-like, somehow, less dangerous.

Billy goes out onto the rear deck for a cigarette. Dimmock makes coffee and joins him after a few minutes. They sit on the deck. Dimmock adds ' _patio table and chairs_ ' to his list. Then ' _barbecue?_ '. He can't help himself.

He notices Billy is a bit subdued.

"Penny for them?"

"I can't bear to think of being on my own again. It scares me. I spoke to Greg earlier. He didn't really want to talk to me. Asked me how I was getting on with you. Seemed to think it was obvious that we would make a good couple, said I'd get over him quicker if I didn't wait too long. I got angry with him, Theo, said some things I probably shouldn't have. He's not coming back. At least not to me. I might have to move off the boat. Half of it is his, I don't know whether I'll be able to carry on living here or not. I expect you'll go soon, too. Once Sherlock's brought blondie in, I won't need a bodyguard any more. I'll miss you, I think, but you've got your own life. Have you got someone waiting for you? "

"No. I've been single ever since I got promoted. The work gets in the way of a love life. I had someone I thought was special when I was a DC, but he didn't like the amount of time I had to give to the job. He hated if I got called out in the middle of the night, or halfway through dinner… I haven't had a long-term relationship for a long time. If I get horny I go out and pick someone up. Or get picked up. Go back to their place, or do it up against a wall somewhere…"

"How do you get over breaking up? I love him, Theo…"

His voice breaks. Dimmock puts his arms around him, pulls his head down against his shoulder, holds him while he sobs.

"Maybe he'll see sense once he feels better, Billy. I expect he's depressed. Have a word with John. See if he can throw some light on the situation."

Dimmock recalls his own angry conversation with Lestrade, when the DCI had all but instructed him to become Billy's lover. He hasn't made any moves on the young man, thinking that Lestrade's mood would lift once his surgery was over. It seems that hasn't happened.

"And if push comes to shove, it's his loss. Put on a bit of glitter, go out and get laid. Have you never been dumped before? You always did the dumping?"

"I've never had a boyfriend before…"

"Never? Billy, how can someone who looks the way you do get to, what, twenty six, without having a boyfriend? Girlfriends?"

"No-one was ever interested in me at university, not boys or girls. I was always two or three years younger than anyone in my class. Awkward. After that, I was on my own in a squat. Doped up for a couple of years. Until Greg arrested me and made me get clean. I knew I was gay by then. He wasn't interested in me then, of course. I was scuzzy. I didn't look like this, then. And if he had been, I wouldn't have been. I was gang-raped a year before he arrested me. That was the only sexual experience I'd ever had before."

"So, he took advantage of your inexperience…"

"No! He didn't. Really, he didn't. He asked me to marry him. But now he's broken off the engagement. I don't know what I'm going to do, Theo."

"A week or so ago, I'd have said let's fuck, no strings. But now…I like you, Billy. I think there'd be strings."

"Best not, then."

"Yeah. Mind you, if it turns out he really means it, you'll have to fight me off."

*****

"Why are you doing this, Greg?"

"You know why. I'm no use to him like this, John."

Lestrade grimaces. He has nightmares every time he falls asleep, reliving the moment when the crazed attacker had tried to kill him. Almost succeeded. Would have done if Billy hadn't stopped him. Every time he thinks of Billy, he sees the young man elbow deep in his blood. Every other memory is drowned out by that moment.

"Talk to him again, Greg. He's really upset."

"No point, John. I've told him it's over. I've asked Dimmock to look after him. Those two could be okay together. Dimmock's young…"

"For fuck's sake, Greg. The microsurgery was successful. Everything works…"

"No. It doesn't. I'm scarred. My belly, my leg, my dick… It hurts like hell if I touch myself. I can't even have a wank, John. How can I fuck him if it hurts me so much?"

"Of course it hurts. You've had major surgery. It won't always hurt, Greg. You're feeling sorry for yourself, and god knows you're entitled to, but think about Billy. Do you really think that having your cock up his arse is all he needs? He loves you. He wants to be with you. To do all that cuddly stuff you're so good at. Even if you could never fuck again, which I doubt, by the way, there are other things you can do. You've still got your mouth, and your fingers. He can still fuck you, for god's sake. Or is this about you being the dominant male? Get over yourself, Greg. Grow up."

"John. I can't think of him without seeing the blood. I can't. I can smell it. I don't want to keep remembering it."

Tears roll down Lestrade's face. He scrubs at them ineffectually. Swallows, sniffs.

"I want to forget it. And I can't. I'm scarred, John. He'd be upset by the scars."

 _PTSD_ , Watson thinks. He can relate to that.

"Greg. The memory will fade. Oh, not quickly, probably. But it will fade. You can have plastic surgery for the scars if you're that worried about them. But they'll fade, too. I expect Billy's having his own share of nightmares. Surely it would be better to work through them together? Tell me honestly, Greg Lestrade, will you be less miserable without him than you would be with him?"

"No. I'll be more miserable. But he'll be happier without me."

"You should let him decide that for himself."

"Not this time, John. I've made my decision. It's over. It's for the best, really."

"I'm disappointed, Greg. I thought better of you."

*****

Billy has attended his interview at Brunel. He has been offered a research position with occasional lectures, been given a contract, and a salary. He had celebrated by going out dancing with Dimmock, who had played the part of boyfriend very well, until he turned into a bodyguard again on arriving back at the boat. _A bit like turning back into a pumpkin at midnight_ , he thinks.

He has a couple of weeks yet before he has to actually be on campus, and intends to use the time to familiarise himself with academic regulations and to start reading for his new area of research. As a post-doc, he will be expected to tutor undergraduates as well as carry out his own research. He wants to be sure he doesn't mess up.

He starts preparing himself to be a researcher again. He buys an old roll-top desk and installs it on the little mezzanine behind the woodburning stove. He puts up shelves between bulkheads, cleans the porthole window so he will have some natural light, and a view of the canal.

The hammock he bought online arrives in the mail. he and Dimmock have fun untangling it and hanging it from the hooks in the sitting area ceiling. It makes an interesting feature, and a useful spare bed.

Dimmock's tour of duty as Billy's bodyguard is extended to a second week, then a third. Life goes on. He is enjoying it, but beginning to get a little twitchy around Billy. He starts sleeping in the hammock. It is comfortable, but a nightmare to get out of. He perfects a technique.

He misses the Yard. Misses being a detective. He gets like this when he is on holiday, too. Never stays away too long. He is relieved when Mycroft Holmes turns up halfway through the third week.

"Sherlock had a breakthrough, with the help of Jack Logan. They ran the gang Knox was connected with to ground in Paris. They were working out of La Defense. Sherlock was able to tip off the gendarmerie about a drugs smuggling rendezvous. Shots were exchanged, and several officers were injured, one of whom later died. Two of the gang also died. Knox was one of them. It is over."

"You've told Greg?"

"Yes."

"Has he said anything about me? Us?"

"Nothing you will want to hear, I'm afraid, Bill. He has made over his share in the SeaGlass to me. I intend to give it to you, so that you will at least have a secure home. He will be returning to New Scotland Yard in two weeks. Desk duty for a while. I imagine he will return to his flat in Peckham. He has asked that you do not contact him. I'm sorry, Bill. I have tried my best to persuade him to see you. John, too. Even Sherlock…"

Mycroft's anguish for Billy is obvious on his face, in his posture, his voice.

"It's all right, Mycroft. I'll miss him. I don't know if I'll ever get over him, but I won't try to get in touch if he doesn't want me to. Will you give him this, please?"

Billy pulls off his diamond ring. Hands it to Mycroft.

"I don't want to risk it going astray in the post."

He chokes. Bites his lip until it bleeds. He won't cry in front of Mycroft.

"Bill. Are you sure about this? The diamond is worth a great deal…"

"I can't wear it now. And I wouldn't sell it. He should have it back. The stone is important to him. Tell him to keep mine. It's not that valuable. I'll miss you all…"

"Bill. You are our friend. I hope I will still be welcome as a visitor? John and Logan, too? Sherlock is likely to visit even if he is not welcome. He intends to try to cultivate a better working relationship with Detective Inspector Dimmock, although I am not entirely clear quite how he will go about that…"

"I take it my body guarding duties are over, then, Mr Holmes?"

Dimmock sat at the table, clutching a cup of coffee, knuckles white with tension.

"Yes. You may return to your normal duties on Monday, or sooner, if you prefer. Be prepared for a Sherlock overload. You may continue to use the DeLorean if you would like to. It will only fester in a parking garage if you do not."

"Thanks. Do I have to move out today?"

"You will need to discuss that with Bill, not me, Theodore. This is his home, after all."

There isn't much more to say. Mycroft leaves, telling Billy he will be in touch about the transfer of the boat ownership.

*****

"So"

Dimmock scrubs his hands through his hair. He is packed and ready to leave. Billy swallows, tears smarting in his eyes.

"Yeah. I expect that's it, then."

"Yeah. Don't be a stay at home, Bill. Get out and get laid. I mean it."

Billy smiles, trying not to cry.

"I'll miss you. You've been kind."

"Maybe I'll come and visit. If that's all right?"

"Yeah. That'll be nice. Don't let Sherlock get on your nerves too much. He can be a real arse."

"I know. I'll try not to. Take care of yourself, Billy."

Dimmock kisses Billy's cheek. Turns and walks away fast, not looking back.


	4. Lentils are nutritious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy is getting on with his life. His friends are worried about him.

It is early March. Billy has been working at Brunel since January. Lestrade has returned to London, but has not been in touch.

"So. How's it going?"

Watson sits at the big table, looking around as if there is something, or someone he expects to see.

"It's fine, John. Work's going really well. I've got an interesting research project. My lectures are being well attended. That's good. Colleagues are all very nice. No complaints."

Billy hands Watson a mug of coffee. Instant. He is not a connoisseur of coffee like Lestrade had been. Billy's kitchen sees much less use than the one he and Lestrade had shared in Scotland. He has stripped and repainted the old kitchen cabinet that had come with the boat, and it is the only storage space he needs. He keeps crockery and cooking pots in the bottom, food in the top. The top is not very full.

"How are things with you and Shezz? I didn't get much chance to talk to you in Scotland. Haven't seen much of either of you since. Things got a bit fraught, didn't they?"

"We're okay. Friends, you know. He's Sherlock…Billy, are you on your own?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you and Theo Dimmock were…"

"No. Theo took his body guarding duties very seriously. But once that was finished he moved out. There was never anything personal between us. I haven't seen him since…"

"So, when Sherlock goes to annoy him about cases, he doesn't come here?"

"No. Is that why you're here? Looking for Sherlock? I thought you'd come to see me. Sorry. That was stupid, wasn't it? Why would you? Anyway. I expect Mycroft will know where he lives. Or Gr…DCI Lestrade. He'll probably know."

Billy sniffs, blinks away tears.

"How is he, John?"

"Greg? He's physically fine. Psychologically, I don't know. Masculinity issues. PTSD. He's missing field work. I expect he'll be running crime scenes again soon. Sherlock nags him. He works okay with T but Lestrade was always his first choice of copper…."

Watson looks closely at Billy. Narrows his eyes.

"I haven't come looking for Sherlock. I came to see how you are. You've lost weight since I last saw you, and you can't afford to. Are you okay? I don't mean work. I mean you. Have you been dating? Going out? Eating properly?"

"I'm fine. Get a bit lonely sometimes. I'm busy though. The research…"

"Boyfriends?"

"No"

"Social life?"

"There's a few postdocs that have a jam night now and then…"

"Eating properly?"

"You're not my mum. I heat up lentils if I'm here. Or I eat in the refectory on campus. I'm not bothered about food, really."

"You love eating, Billy."

"I loved eating when he cooked for me. It was… sensual. I can't feel that way on my own. Lentils are nutritious."

"What do you do in the evenings, Billy? When you're not jamming?"

"Work, mostly. Read. Play my guitar. Draw. Do a bit of decorating. Sleep."

"All by yourself?"

"Yeah. It's all right, John. I've been on my own all my life, pretty much. I had five months with Mister Lestrade. Less than a month with Theo. Just an interlude, really. Back to normal, now. I've got a job, somewhere nice to live. That's a lot more than I had this time last year."

"You're lonely…"

"'Course I am. Everybody is, sometimes. I'm used to it. I haven't gone back on the needle if that's what you're thinking."

"I wasn't. I think you're pretty safe from that, now. Your work keeps your mind occupied. But I wish you could make friends…"

"Don't worry about me, John. I'll be all right."

*****

Mycroft Holmes has been away, out of the country, and has not been able to visit Billy, as he had said he would. His assistant has called in his place, bringing contracts for signature. Has reported back that the young man seems closed-off, unemotional.

Mycroft has ordered discreet surveillance, but there has been nothing of interest to report. He considers mutual acquaintances. Who would be best to judge emotional states? He calls John Watson.

"He's lonely, Mycroft. He doesn't know how to make friends. He never learned how to as a kid, he was always too young for whatever group he was in. Then he got damaged after university. I don't think he realised before just how lonely he was. Then Lestrade happened to him. Now he does know how lonely he is. He's broken. I don't know how to help him."

"His relationship with Dimmock did not help him to readjust?"

"Dimmock was never in the picture. He was his bodyguard. That was all he ever was. There was never any sort of personal relationship."

"But Lestrade told me…"

"Lestrade told you what Lestrade wanted. He wanted Dimmock to keep Billy happy. It would get him off the hook, let him wallow. He didn't take Dimmock's or Billy's wishes or feelings into account. He's been a selfish arsehole. Billy saved his life. He hasn't even thanked him. He just dumped him. I can't believe you, of all people, did not see that. Oh. You've not been in contact with him recently, have you? I suppose he served his purpose. Gave you the formula for his wonder drug. And you paid him off with his PhD. Which was already his."

Mycroft hears the bitterness in Watson's tone. He doesn't react to it, even though he acknowledges to himself that he has not been as good a friend to Billy as he could have been.

"What can I do, John?"

"I don't know, Mycroft. I don't know."

*****

 

 

"Why are you here? I suppose there's no need to ask you how you got in."

"I need your help with a problem, Billy."

"No, Shezz. I don't do favours for you any more."

"You haven't heard what it is I want you to do, yet."

"Whatever it is, it won't be good."

"It could be."

"Doubt it."

"Billy. I need your body."

"I'm using it. Find someone who's dead. That shouldn't be hard for you."

"Billy. I need a live, young, pretty man."

"What for?"

"To take me dancing."

"Ask Mr Dimmock. He likes dancing."

"He's not tall enough."

"Shezz. I know you. This is for a case, right? You'll take me to some seedy gay club and bugger off and leave me there. No."

"You might get to have sex."

"With a stranger? Not my scene."

"It might be fun."

"Fuck off, Shezz."

"You'd really rather I took Dimmock?"

"I don't care who you take. Fuck off."

 

*****

Sherlock, Watson and Dimmock are in the sitting room at 221b, discussing ways they might help Billy Wiggins.

"I tried, John. I asked him to go dancing. I told him he might get to have sex."

Watson splutters his tea. Dimmock looks strained.

"You did _what_? Sherlock. I asked you for help with getting him out of his house, boat, houseboat, help with socialising."

"You suggested dancing, John. You implied sex would be a successful outcome for him…"

"I didn't mean for you to offer yourself to him on a plate. What did he say?"

"I wasn't offering _myself_. Oh. He might have thought I was. He told me to ask Inspector Dimmock. That _he_ liked dancing. He implied that if I wanted sex I should ask Dimmock for that, too. He told me to fuck off."

Dimmock's ears turn pink. Sherlock notices, of course.

"Oh, good grief, Dimmock. I have no intention of asking you for sex."

"That's a relief. I suppose."

Watson gives Dimmock a sharp look.

"Could you talk to him, T? You're young, and more…normal…than Sherlock. Maybe you could suggest some places he could go to meet people?"

"Yeah. All right. I'll drop round and see him."


	5. "I'm not planning to fight too hard…"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy is a bit of a rock star.

As it happens, when Dimmock drops by to see Billy, Billy is not at home.

Dimmock is a bit peeved. It is going on for nine on a Friday evening. He has put off a potential date so that he can visit Billy Wiggins, and now he has nothing to do. He contemplates going home, but in the end decides to go back to the Yard to finish up some paperwork. At least that way he'll have a clear weekend.

"Dimmock. Just the man."

"Sir?"

Lestrade indicates a teenager following him out of the building.

"Have you met DI Gregson's son? Alex, this is Inspector Dimmock. He's going to join us on our little jaunt."

"I am? Er, sir? What jaunt is this?"

"Don't call me sir, T. Call me Lestrade if you can't call me Greg."

"I'll try to remember. Where are we going?"

"Alex here wants to go to a gig. Apparently, a family friend plays drums in a rock band that are playing round the corner at the Lion tonight. Gregson knows I play bass, and has decided that that qualifies me to keep an eye on his boy. You are coming along to keep me sane."

Dimmock raises an eyebrow at Lestrade's outfit.

"So, that explains the leather and the earring. What sort of rock band is this going to be, Lestrade?"

"Loud, from what Alex here says. Cover band. Pink Floyd, Zeppelin, that sort of stuff. You'll fit in. You don't look too much like a copper in that jacket. Scruff your hair up a bit. Come on."

Dimmock trots behind Lestrade and Alex. It will be better than paperwork, probably, whatever it is like.

The pub is crowded and very noisy. A corner building. The bar is L-shaped, and the band are finishing setting up at the far end of the L as they arrive. Lights are dimmed, and the irritating sound of guitars tuning doesn't last long. Lestrade grabs a pint of beer for himself, coke for Alex, who is too young to be drinking, and for Dimmock, who will be driving later.

Dimmock and Alex  push their way forward into the crowd around the corner of the bar. Lestrade hangs back, preferring a bit of space around him.

The band look to be popular; there are cheers as the guitarist strikes the opening riff of 'Whole Lotta Love'. An ambitious choice, although the guitarist isn't bad. _Actually, he is pretty good_ , Lestrade thinks, as the song goes on, the audience shouting the chorus. A very short pause, then a quieter tempo as the band pick up a Metallica song. The opening bars are melodic, and the singer has a deep, gravelly voice that suits the song well.

_"So close no matter how far/ Couldn't be much more from the heart/ Forever trusting who we are/ And nothing else matters/"_

There is something familiar about the voice, Lestrade thinks. He edges forward to the corner of the bar, where he can just see the band.

"Fuck. Billy."

Lestrade steps back. He doesn't want to be seen. He positions himself where he can watch the band in a mirror, and keep an eye on Alex and Dimmock at the same time.

Billy is standing towards the back of the stage, playing his battered red Stratocaster. He is dressed all in black, a vest top showing some of his ink; glass chips on a narrow thong around his neck; silver and glass rings on both hands; low slung jeans with a wide, studded belt. His eyes are closed as he sings.

_"Trust I seek and I find in you/ Every day for us something new/ Open mind for a different view/And nothing else matters"_

The crowd go wild. Billy smiles, launches into the very familiar opening riff of a Guns n Roses song. The audience cheer and whistle.

Shivers run down Lestrade's spine. Billy is really good.

Dimmock appears at Lestrade's elbow.

"See who the guitarist is?"

"Yeah. He's good. I don't want him to spot me, T. I'm going to stay back here. Keep an eye on Alex for me, I don't want him vanishing. Send him back here when they've finished."

Dimmock pushes forward again, taking up position behind Alex. Another Metallica song, faster, the bass player taking the vocal. Then the slow intro to a Pink Floyd song.

Billy plays the solos expertly, shares the vocal.

_"When I was a child / I caught a fleeting glimpse / Out of the corner of my eye / I turned to look but it was gone / I cannot put my finger on it now / The child is grown / The dream is gone / And I have become / Comfortably numb"_

Lestrade's chest aches. He can't bear being this close to Billy. Listening to his voice, hearing him play so expertly, hearing him sing sad lyrics. He feels tears prickling his eyelids as the band play "Fade to Black". That was a song he'd listened to with Billy, sharing earbuds, cuddled up on a sofa in Scotland.

Dimmock nudges him.

"Are you okay? He's spotted me. I'm going to hang around after they've finished. Be churlish not to tell him how good he is, specially as he's seen me. Regulars are saying this is his first gig with this lot. Hope it's not the last. You and Alex can take off without me."

"Okay, T. Thanks. I'll see you on Monday."

He watches Dimmock push through the crowd to stand near the front. He can still see Alex. And he sees Billy looking round and catching Dimmock's eye. Sees him smile. His jaw clenches.

The band go into their penultimate number, the crowd joins in with the opening growl, Billy moves forward to play the opening trills, AC/DC, 'Thunderstruck'. _That is a really difficult riff to get right,_ Lestrade thinks. Billy nails it.

The crowd are jumping up and down, singing along. They don't want the band to stop. Lestrade wonders what Billy can do to top AC/DC. He finds out, and moans as Billy launches into the crazy arpeggios of Yngwie Malmstein's 'Vengeance'. The hair on the back of his neck stands up, and he roars along with the rest of the audience as the song ends.

*****

"Hello, Theo."

"Hi Billy. That was bloody good. Didn't know you were a rock star."

Dimmock grins, as Billy blushes. His eyes are shining, he is still on a performance high.

"Bit of luck, really. Their guitarist got a job in Bristol, so there was an opening. I knew most of their set list already, so it was easy for me to fit in. I hope they let me stay. It's brilliant playing for an audience. I've never done it before."

"That last tune was fantastic. Thought your fingers were going to fall off."

Billy laughs.

"So what are you doing here, Theo? Wouldn't have pictured you in a place like this. Thought you'd be more of a clubber."

Billy winds up his leads as he speaks, piles them, with his pedals, into a kitbag. Other band members carry amps, mics, drums out to a small van.

"Coincidence, really. I dropped by your boat earlier, but you weren't there. Came back to do some paperwork at the yard. A couple of people were coming here, so I tagged along. Glad I did. They've buggered off and left me, though. Are you going back in the van?"

"No. Tube. They're going out to Uxbridge. They all live nearer to campus than I do. The drummer keeps the big kit at his place. I just cart my Strat and pedals."

"I've got the car round the corner, near the Yard. Do you want a lift home?"

"That'd be great. As long as it's not too much trouble? I'll just let the guys know I'm going. Need to check when the next practice is. Won't be a minute."

Dimmock watches as Billy walks over to his band mates. _He has a really nice arse_ , he thinks. _Long legs_. He has never seen so much of his ink on public show before. He shakes his head, rubs the back of his neck. Grins.

*****

"Do you want to come in for coffee?"

Billy blushes. Suddenly shy.

"Or I've still got some of that nice red wine Mycroft gave us. If you don't have to rush off…"

"I remember telling you you'd have to fight me off…"

Dimmock is feeling a bit shy himself.

"Yeah. I'm not planning to fight too hard…"

"Who are you, and what have you done with Billy Wiggins?"

They both laugh. Dimmock locks the car, and follows Billy as he negotiates the gangplank and steps down into the boat.

"Glass of wine would be good. If you don't mind me staying…"

"Okay. Can you get it while I dump my guitar and stuff? You know where everything is."

Dimmock finds glasses and a corkscrew. Opens a bottle of Barolo and pours two glasses. Takes them over to the sofa and settles himself into a corner. Billy sits next to him, feet up, arms clasped around his knees.

"So. A rock guitarist?"

Billy laughs.

"Yeah. There's a bunch of postdocs from different departments that get together to jam every couple of weeks. I saw a notice and thought I'd go along. It's good to jam. Me and Greg used to…There's all sorts of musicians, and a couple of bands have split off. There's a folk band, and ours. When I first started going along, they already had a guitarist, but he left a few weeks ago and they asked me to step in. I like their set list. It suits me. I really enjoy the rehearsals. Tonight was the first proper gig I've played with them. It was brilliant. Did we sound good?"

"Yeah. It was great. I liked it a lot more than I expected to. Good crowd, too. You were fantastic. I knew you played, of course, but didn't realise you were that good. I'll come and watch you again next time you have a gig."

"I was surprised when I saw you. Wasn't sure it was you at first. Your hair's different…"

"You look amazing, you know. Real rockstar. And you're showing a bit of ink. I've never seen you without sleeves…"

"I don't normally show it off. The guys were surprised to see it. Course, they'll never see it all…"

"Any chance of me seeing it all?"

"Maybe…"

Dimmock smiles. Leans in to kiss Billy's cheek. Is surprised, and pleased, when Billy turns to kiss his mouth.

"Sleepy?"

"No."

"Good." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Brunel band set list
> 
> Led Zeppelin: Whole Lotta Love: <http://youtu.be/Mln0RciE2o0>
> 
> Metallica: Nothing Else Matters: <http://youtu.be/tAGnKpE4NCI>
> 
> Guns N Roses: Sweet Child O' Mine: <http://youtu.be/1w7OgIMMRc4>
> 
> Metallica: I Disappear: <http://youtu.be/nYSDC3cHoZs>
> 
> Pink Floyd: Comfortably Numb: <http://youtu.be/JWnapx502uQ>
> 
> Metallica: Fade to Black: <http://youtu.be/38p55TkZibc>
> 
> AC/DC: Thunderstruck: <http://youtu.be/n_GFN3a0yj0>
> 
> Yngwie Malmstein: Vengeance: <http://youtu.be/ofUwxDsb424>


	6. Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds something nasty at Dimmock's crime scene.

Blue lights flash, reflecting in puddles and windows around the crime scene. SOCOs in blue suits move purposefully around the asphalted yard. A body lies on the ground under a makeshift tent, face up, blood spreading fast on the wet ground from nowhere immediately obvious.

Dimmock sighs. It is raining heavily. _What happened to April showers?_ , he thinks. _April downpours, more like._ It's going to be a long night, rain always makes crime scenes more difficult to manage.

He will have to wait for the forensic pathologist to finish looking at the body before he can really get going on the investigation, and the man has hardly got started yet. His first glance tells him this isn't going to be straightforward. There is no obvious knife sticking out of the chest, no handy axe stuck in the corpse's head, no cuffed murderer offering a confession…

He ducks under the tape surrounding the crime scene, pulls his phone out of his pocket. Makes a call. It rings out. He tries again. Voicemail.

"Damn"

_*Dr Wiggins is unable to take your call at the moment. Please leave a message after the tone*_

"I'm sorry. Crime scene. I'm not going to be able to get away in the next few hours. I'll try to get there before closing time, but can't promise. If I don't make it, get a cab back. Don't go on the tube, the weather's foul. I'll call you later."

He goes back to his crime scene, sighing again as Sherlock and Watson arrive.

"I didn't call you. How did you know about this?"

"We didn't. We were honestly just passing and saw the illuminations. Thought we'd drop in to see if it was anything interesting."

Watson smiles.

"At least, _I_ didn't know about it. Wouldn't put it past _him_ to have found out something and not told me."

"As long as he doesn't upset anyone, I'm tempted to let him get on with it. I could do with a quick finish to this one. Supposed to be somewhere tonight."

"I heard you and Billy had a thing. How's that going?"

"It's great, John. Except I hardly get to see him. He's got a gig tonight. I really wanted to be there. Doubt if I'll make it though. He says he doesn't mind when I miss them, but…"

*****

Movement sensors switch on the harsh overhead lights in the serious crimes office of New Scotland Yard. Lestrade looks out through the glass wall of his own small office, surprised to see anyone else there at this time of night.

He is exhausted. His back and legs ache. His dick is sore. He had almost caught a killer in the act, missing him by moments, actually catching sight of him leaving the scene of the murder. He and his team had managed to chase the man down and apprehend him, but he'd picked up bruised ribs and a black eye for his trouble. Now he is at his desk, completing the paperwork.

He stretches, gets up and opens his office door.

"Want coffee, T?"

Dimmock stretches out the kinks in his spine, drops his jacket on the corner of his desk. He isn't senior enough to merit his own office.

"Yeah, thanks. What happened to you?"

"Just bruises. Getting too old to chase villains. Talking of bruises… "

Dimmock blushes. An old lovebite is still obvious on his throat. He hasn't bothered to try to hide it, has endured catcalls and whistles from his colleagues.

"Not talking about it."

"Okay. Nice necklace…" Dimmock is wearing a thong strung with glass chips.  

"All right. Yes. Billy gave me both of them. Happy? I notice you're still wearing his ring."

"Yeah. I like it. Don't wear it as an engagement ring any more, of course. Not after he gave mine back."

"Don't get sulky, Lestrade. You broke it off, as I recall. And your diamond was too valuable for him to keep."

"Point taken. This is weird. How is he?"

"He's fine, I think. Haven't seen him for a few days. He's been presenting something at a conference in Exeter. I was supposed to be going to a gig in Uxbridge tonight. He's playing. But I've got a sodding suspicious death in Hackney. Got Sherlock all over it at the moment. Came away before I punched him. Going back later. You get yours?"

"Yeah. Straightforward gang stuff. Could have let the DIs have it, but fancied a run."

"Thanks for that. I expect it would have landed on my desk if you hadn't. I seem to get most of them lately. About time someone was promoted to take your place. Any news on that? A DCI shouldn't have to do as much legwork as you do…"

"No. Cutbacks…"

Dimmock snorts.

"Yeah. Any excuse. He asks after you, you know."

"I'm all right. Thanks for not broadcasting details of what happened…"

"Nobody's business. I said you'd been stabbed in the belly. Didn't mention the other stuff. I had to say something. You know what they're like. They want gory details. Made it sound bad enough to keep you out of action for a while."

Dimmock's phone pings.

***To:TD: You need to get back here. Now. JW***

Lestrade's phone pings. Photo message. A middle-aged white man he recognises.

 ***To:GL: Dimmock's victim. Get over here. Fast. SH** *

"Estuary man…"

"Who?"

Dimmock is pulling on his jacket, running for the stairs.

"Wait, T. I need to get my coat. I'm coming with you. Estuary man was one of the gang after Billy's research in Scotland. The one I would have shot in the head if Mycroft Holmes hadn't turned up."

Both phones ping.

***To: Group: GL; TD: There is a car outside. Please hurry. MH***

*****

"John and Sherlock want us both at Dimmock's crime scene…"

Lestrade has realised that Mycroft's car is not going in that direction.

"Yes. I have overridden their requests. You can not do anything helpful there. I am taking you to a secure facility where we can discuss this case in appropriate surroundings."

"I had a picture of T's victim, Mycroft. It's estuary man…"

"Yes. It is unfortunate that someone has killed him. He could have been useful to us. We need to know who took him out of the picture. Sherlock and John are investigating, they are the best people for this. My people are also deployed. There has been a development. You two will need some time to absorb new information."

*****

They drive for a long time through the darkness and rain. It seems to Lestrade that they might be driving in circles. At last, the car turns into a driveway. Gates swing closed behind them, and they pull up outside a largish house.

"Gentlemen. Please follow me."

They follow Mycroft inside the building, into a room with no windows. The walks look soft. Soundproofing. The door locks behind them.

"Inspector Dimmock…Theodore. Do you know what Dr Wiggins has been doing for the last five days?"

"Yes. He's been at a conference at the University of Exeter. He's playing with his band in Uxbridge tonight. I was supposed to be there, but this estuary man murder held me up."

"Have you been in contact with him at all since he left for Exeter?"

"Yeah. Texts. He's not much of one for talking on the phone. Prefers texts. Like Sherlock. I think it's about clarity of message. You can't mishear a text."

"No actual phone calls?"

"No. I tried calling a couple of times. Got voicemail. He answered with texts. I left a voicemail for him tonight, as it happens. Haven't had a reply yet…"

"Has something happened to Billy, Mycroft?"

Lestrade's cop senses are tingling. Dimmock is starting to look worried.

"There has been an incident…"

"An incident? He hasn't got high or something stupid, has he? No. You wouldn't have brought us here…"

A knock on the door forestalls Mycroft's reply. An armed guard opens the door, ushering in a familiar face.

"Inspector Logan?"

"Jackie? What are you doing here?"

"Training course. Hello Greg. Lucky I was in London…"

"Hello, Jack. I'm very glad you could join us."

Mycroft smiles tightly.

"Hello Mycroft. Inspector Dimmock, please call me Jackie. Mycroft, have you…"

"Not yet, Jack. I believe inspector Dimmock prefers being called Theo."

Another knock heralds the arrival of a bottle of good scotch and four glasses. Mycroft stands and pours four stiff drinks, passing them out.

"You will need this. I have asked inspector Logan to join us because he is familiar with the ongoing case to which this case appears related."

 _And because he has certain empathic qualities I lack…_ he doesn't say. Mycroft is under severe strain. He needs Logan there to give him strength for what is coming.

Lestrade and Dimmock look at each other, each beginning to feel nervous.

"Sherlock found something in the Hackney warehouse. In an attic room your team missed, Theodore."

"How could we miss an entire room?"

"There was a false wall. I am going to show you an image. Please sit. And you, Gregor. Drink your scotch."

He goes over to the large touch screen on the wall, brushes a file link, calling up a photograph.

A naked man, tall and thin, back to the camera. Wrists chained to hooks fixed a couple of yards apart in the crossbeam of an attic ceiling, arms stretched up and out, toes just touching the floor. Pale skin. Dark hair. Blood matted in the hair and congealed on the shoulder.

Blood has run down over a black tattoo of an angel's wing that covers the man's right shoulder and upper arm and extends down the right side of his body to end at his ankle. On his left shoulder is what looks like a gaping wound. Another tattoo, colour this time, giving the effect of what might be left if a wing was wrenched off. The tattoos are distinctive.

They are Billy's tattoos.

 

Continued in chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a longer chapter, but I have cut it into two short ones, because I love a cliffhanger…


	7. Tattoos, continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds something nasty, continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued from chapter 6. Just the end part of the original chapter 6, really.

Lestrade stands, manages to take three steps before his legs buckle and he sinks to his knees. Dimmock grabs for him, wraps his arms around him, unable to take his eyes from the screen.

"Nonononononono"

Lestrade is incoherent. Shock etches his features. Dimmock is stunned into silence. Logan kneels, puts his arms around both men. Holds them both tightly.

Mycroft speaks as gently as he can.

"The body has been taken to St Bartholomew's Hospital. Detective Inspector Gregson is in charge of this investigation. Sherlock obviously wishes to be involved, and I will apply pressure to ensure that happens. I judged it best to keep you both away from this crime scene. Theodore, your estuary man case would appear to be linked, so you are no longer the lead detective on that. I am sorry."

There is no response from either of the two detectives. Mycroft hadn't really expected one. Both men have been rendered silent by shock.

"There is a live feed to the mortuary available. Do you feel up to this? Gregor? Theodore?"

Dimmock nods. Lestrade takes a deep breath.

"Yes. Do we have cause of death?"

Mycroft calls up the video feed from the mortuary. The body is lying face-up on the slab, waiting for the post mortem to begin. Lestrade feels his gorge rise as he looks at the ruined face of the young man. His eyes are missing, and his teeth have also been knocked out, presumably by whoever wielded the blunt instrument that has smashed his chin and cheekbones with such ferocity that his face is unrecognisable. Cause of death is likely the battering around the head. His skull is caved in, and blood and brains mat his hair.

Dimmock swallows, looks around for a bin. Vomits. Forces himself to look back at the screen.

"Can they turn him over please? I want to look at the tattoos."

Lestrade looks suddenly old. Already exhausted and bruised from his earlier activities, the shock of this revelation has sent him into near-collapse. His skin is greyish with pallor and his eyes are bloodshot from fatigue. He looks like a man who has been living on coffee and cigarettes for a week. He snarls, sliding into French, as he sometimes does in states of high emotion.

"Merde, T'éo. Tu as vu la photo. N'est-ce pas assez pour toi?"

"Detective Inspector Dimmock needs to see the tattoos."

A deep, velvet voice. Sherlock.

"All right"

The forensic pathologist motions to the mortuary technicians to turn the body over. He is clearly not happy that Sherlock is there, but has obviously had his wishes overridden. DI Gregson has not yet arrived at the mortuary.

Sherlock walks slowly over to the table, pulling on gloves.

"Can we zoom in? Get a closer look?"

Dimmock thinks he may have spotted something. The camera zooms in closer.

"It's good. Looks like Marco's work. Definitely Billy's design. He drew it himself. But look there…Sherlock. Look at the right shoulder. It's too black. Too clean. Greg, he had this when you were in Scotland together. He'd started on this a long time ago. He didn't have the one on his other shoulder then. He had that one done in London. I was there with him."

Sherlock leans over the body, looking intently at the shoulders.

"Well spotted, Dimmock. The ink on the left shoulder should be much newer, but the inking of these tattoos looks as if it has all been done at the same time. It's healed, but still all looks very bright. It must have taken several days and would have been very painful. No one would normally have this amount of work done at one time. This is not Billy Wiggins."

"You are confident of this, Sherlock?"

"Yes, Mycroft. And not only because of the tattoos…"

"Sherlock. Are you sure?"

Lestrade can barely breathe.

"Yes, Greg."

He realises the strain Lestrade is under, and refrains from his customary baiting, uses his real name.

"There are no callouses on the fingers of the left hand. That is clumsy. Billy's fingers are calloused from playing his guitar. And the eyes, Greg. Why take the eyes?"

"Because Billy's are so distinctive. Sea glass…"

Lestrade relaxes, a little colour creeping back into his face.

Mycroft takes over.

"Very well. To summarise what we know:

_Dr Wiggins did not arrive at a conference where he was due to present a paper. We can estimate that he has been missing for five days._

_Sherlock received a tip-off from one of his 'homeless network', and attended DI Dimmock's 'estuary man' crime scene in Hackney._

_A second body was found by Sherlock just after ten o'clock tonight in the attic of the Hackney warehouse. The room the body was in had not been found when the warehouse had originally been searched by Dimmock's team. There was a false wall in the attic._

_As yet, we do not have a time of death, and there is no confirmation that the killing took place in the attic. Scene of crime investigations are ongoing._

_The body has been identified as being that of Dr Bill Wiggins, the identification based on height, other physical characteristics, and very distinctive tattoos, designed by Dr Wiggins himself._

I am inclined to ask that the identification stand in reports for the time being. The perpetrator is likely aware of the amount of time needed for a DNA analysis, and will think they have some time yet before their ruse is discovered. We will use that to our advantage."

He turns to Lestrade and Dimmock.

"I am going to involve myself in this investigation, as it seems likely it is connected to a matter of interest to me. I will also consult with both of you, unofficially, of course, as I believe you both to be better investigators than DI Gregson, who will be officially leading on both cases. DI Gregson will make press statements. It would be expected that you two would be kept off this case, due to you both having known relationships with the supposed victim. That frees you to work behind the scenes for a while."

Lestrade rubs the back of his neck. Downs his scotch.

"I need to talk to Sherlock…"

Dimmock nods.

"We both need to talk to him. And in the meantime we have no idea as to where Billy is. Or why someone went to these lengths to make us think he's dead. The only clue is the tattoos. It's Billy's flash, it looks like Marco did the needle work. We can turn over the tattoo parlour. No, that'd tip them off…"

"Maybe it's time I got that tattoo I've been thinking about…"

"Jackie?"

"We need to look around there, Greg. You're well known for working with Sherlock, and you've had a long association with Billy. Theo here has been there with Billy. I'm a new face…"

"Would you really go as far as getting a tattoo?"

"Maybe. A little one. Somewhere discreet."


	8. Heart murmur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation gets under way.

"I really don't know why you needed me to come with you, Jack…"

Logan has applied for a job transfer, and is currently attending a training course at the City of London Police Academy. he has a free morning today, and is using it to get some medical tests done. 

"I'm in a strange city, Mycroft. I want some company. A friendly face. The only other people I know are up to their ears in investigation. You've insisted on me getting this physical, Mycroft. I'm having demands made on me because you want me to change my job. I'm going to make a little demand on you. For once."

He shivers as a technician swabs his chest with a cold spirit wipe before attaching electrodes and flipping a switch to begin an ECG. The machine hums.

"But Jack, my people only need to know the results of the tests. Would you not prefer the actual medical checkup to be a private matter?"

"Some bits of it, maybe. I'm not going to let you watch my prostate examination…"

Mycroft's laugh is smothered as Logan pulls him down and kisses him soundly.

"Look how you make my heart race, Mycroft."

The kiss is obvious on the trace. The technician scowls, tearing off the printout.

"We'll have to start again, Inspector. Please behave this time."

"May I have that spoiled trace, please? As a souvenir?"

"I shouldn't really. Oh all right. Don't tell anyone."

Logan carefully folds the printout and tucks it away in his pocket. _Mission accomplished_. He smiles at Mycroft.

"You've things you'd rather be doing, Mycroft. Fingers to dip in pies. Don't worry, I don't mind finishing up here on my own. Will I see you later?"

"Yes. Of course. Dinner? I will take you somewhere nice. I'll pick you up from New Scotland Yard."

*****

"I was told to ask for Marco. Friend of a friend recommended him as a fast worker. I've only an hour or so to spare."

"We don't do a lot of walk-ins…"

Logan puts on his most anguished puppy-dog look. He knows it works. He'd used it on Mycroft that morning. 

"It's his birthday, you see. I want to surprise him. And I have to go home tomorrow. It has to be today. Please. I'll pay extra…"

"What did you want? It'll have to be something simple if you've only got an hour or so."

"I've got this…"

Logan shows the young woman his cardiac trace.

"I want this bit. It's where he kissed me. See how my heart rate changed? Can you do it here…?"

He indicates the left side of his chest, just above the nipple.

"I only want the trace. Not the graph lines or anything…"

"That's really romantic. Okay, looks simple enough. But Marco hasn't been in all week. I can do it for you, though. Give me fifteen minutes. Have a seat in the waiting area. There's flash books you can look at while you wait. Or magazines. "

*****

"I can't believe you actually got tattooed."

Dimmock is impressed.

"That goes above and beyond…. must have hurt."

"Of course it hurt. They draw with a needle _under_ your skin…but it's kind of a good hurt, if you see what I mean."

"Going to let us see it?"

Lestrade raises an eyebrow. 

"Or is it somewhere private?"

"Oh, all right."

Logan unbuttons his shirt, baring the left side of his chest, peels off the cling film carefully. The tattoo starts at Logan's breastbone, stretches across the entire pectoral muscle, an inch above his left nipple. The black ink is stark against his pale redhead's skin.

Dimmock laughs.

"That's your idea of 'a little one, somewhere discreet'?"

"What have you done, Jack?"

Mycroft's voice is hoarse, trembling.

"It's my cardiac trace from this morning. A reminder. What do you think, Mycroft?"

"It's beautiful."

Mycroft blushes.

"Looks like you've got a heart murmur…"

Lestrade squints at the tattoo

"Or something…"

"I kissed him.…"

Logan's blush matches Mycroft's. Lestrade laughs. Turns it into a cough.

"You romantic arse. And you had the nerve to call me cute. What did you find out, Jackie?"

"The place has been closed for a month. Refurbishment. Stinks of fresh paint. Opened again this week, but no sign of Marco. Another artist did my ink. I got a chance to look through their flash. Folders of photos. Sketch books…"

He picks up his coat. Delves into a deep inside pocket. Pulls out a thin folder.

"Always wear a gamekeeper's coat. Poacher's pockets. The art looked familiar…"

He smiles. Opens the folder.

"It's Bill's. Not his own book, but a collection of flash he's drawn. I recognised the ripped out wing sketch. The others are all signed. I haven't had a chance to have a good look yet, but this could be where the designs for our mystery man came from. There might be fingerprints. And they had a month to make use of the facilities. Marco is missing, too. You'll need to search for him. And you still need to find out who the victim is."

"Yeah. Gregson's not made much headway on that, from what I can see. I'm getting on his nerves, I know. So is Sherlock. T, can you have a quiet chat with him? He might talk to you just because you're not me…"

"Okay. I'll get this checked for prints, as well. The lab will do it faster if I ask them." 

Dimmock leaves with the folder. The wait for news of Billy goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a new tumblr: http://doctorbillyposts.tumblr.com


	9. Sherlock takes the plunge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Dimmock do some investigating together

"One for you, Dimmock. Body in the Thames. Tower Hill. Liaise with Marine Policing Unit."

Dimmock has his coat on and is out of the door almost before the DCI has finished speaking. It is a relief, of sorts, to have a crime scene, rather than suffering the strain of keeping a polite relationship going with Lestrade.

Dimmock knows perfectly well that Lestrade is still deeply in love with Billy Wiggins. Knows that his own relationship with the young man is pretty one-sided. He is desperate to find Billy, but suspects he wouldn't be finding him for himself.

He rides the lift down to the underground car park. Steps out and stops when he notices a tall figure leaning against his car.

"Tower Hill?"

"How do you find out about these so quickly? Is it one you're interested in?"

"Maybe. Give me a lift?"

"Yeah. All right. What do you know?"

"River police found a body floating in the river. Under the surface. Caught up in the anchor chain of a barge. They've taken the body to the mortuary. I need to look at the barge. And the body. You know how I work, Theo…"

Dimmock frowns. _Theo_? He didn't even know that Holmes knew his first name.

"Okay, Mr Holmes. But please try not to upset the MPU. They're prickly. And inclined to be uncooperative. We'll need them to get us out to the barge."

They drive in silence, Sherlock flicking through apps, texts, emails on his phone, Dimmock preoccupied with his worry about Billy.

"Theo. I need to borrow your phone for a moment."

"Why?"

"I need to send a message. Not from my own phone. "

"Can you wait till we get there? It's in my inside pocket."

"It's urgent."

Sherlock leans over and slips his hand inside Dimmock's jacket, brushing his nipple accidentally through his cotton shirt as he takes the phone from his pocket. Dimmock hisses, electricity arcing between his nipple and his balls.

He risks a sideways look at the consulting detective. Sherlock is concentrating on Dimmock's phone, entering text, sending a brief message.

He switches the phone off, leans across to return it to Dimmock's pocket, brushing the nipple again. _Okay,_ Dimmock thinks. _Once was possibly an accident. Twice_ …?

Sherlock's phone pings. He opens the message. Smiles. Captures the caller ID and makes a new entry in his contacts. _Theo Dimmock_.

*****

"That was really stupid"

"I found evidence…"

"You could have drowned. There's no visibility in that water. I could have lost you…"

Dimmock bites off the rest of that sentence. _What is he thinking?_

Sherlock had been almost excessively charming to the river patrolmen, persuading them to take himself and Dimmock out to the barge in their little inflatable launch.

They had searched the vessel, finding evidence that someone, presumably the man whose body had been found, had been chained in the cargo hold for some days.

Dimmock had called in the SOCOs, and had just finished the call when he heard shouting on deck, followed by a hideous creaking, grinding sound and a loud splash.

He had rushed up on deck, in time to see Sherlock disappear under the surface of the Thames for apparently the second time, had almost fallen down the rope ladder to the launch, just missing going into the water himself.

He had grabbed for Sherlock, only to feel the detective twist away from him and go under a third time, this time coming up with a sodden bundle that he thrust into Dimmock's hands before allowing himself to be pulled out of the water by the MPU.

"Hold on to that. I think I know what it is."

Dimmock is furious. And terrified. He yells at the MPU to get them to shore. Grabs a set of blue crime scene overalls from the SOCOs and insists that Sherlock get into the car to strip off his wet clothes and get into them, turning his back and standing in front of the car window to give him some privacy.

He gives him his own overcoat to provide some warmth; puts the bundle Sherlock has retrieved into a plastic bin bag and hands it to the head SOCO; endures a Sherlock sniping for as long as it takes to persuade the SOCO to open up the bag and bundle so he can photograph it.

*****

"You could have just driven me home. I'm fine."

"You went under in the Thames THREE times. God knows what sort of shit you swallowed."

Sherlock had been driven to hospital by a simmering Dimmock, had his stomach flushed out by a cheerful nurse, had been given a prescription for an antibacterial shower gel, to combat any nasties that might be on his skin. He had been told to watch out for redness and swelling around the diverse abrasions he had picked up while sliding down the rusted anchor chain of the barge.

"Can I go home now? I need to put on some proper clothes. I can't appear at the mortuary dressed in blue plastic. "

"Okay. I'll drive you home. Baker Street, isn't it?"

"Message me the pictures of the bundle I fished out. My number is in your contacts…"

"You took my phone so you could give me your number? Sure you don't want to fish it out of my pocket and message yourself?"

"Would you like me to?"

"Yeah"

*****

"It's Marco."

Dimmock recognises the man on the mortuary table.

"I met him when Doctor Wiggins had his most recent tattoo. I had plenty of time to observe him…"

"You watched while Billy was tattooed?"

"Yeah. I was his bodyguard…"

"Did you find it an erotic experience?"

"No. It really hurt him. He got off on it, though. Said it was like getting high. I don't mind a bit of ink, if it's done well. But I wished Bill had stopped at his feathers. That was more than enough for any one body…"

"Do you have any tattoos, Theo?"

"No. And not likely to get any after watching Bill. You?"

"Not at present."

Dimmock texts Lestrade.

***To: GL: Body in Thames looks like Marco. SOCO looking at barge. Possible DNA on anchor chain. Some might be Holmes. Plonker took a swim. Made him get his stomach pumped. Found tattoo kit in water. Test for hackney victim DNA? TD***

***To: TD: MADE him get his stomach pumped? I'm impressed. GL***

Sherlock completes his observations of the body in the mortuary. He shivers.

"Cold?"

"Mm. My coat will take days to dry out. I may have to resort to wearing a jumper…"

"Heaven forbid."

Dimmock can't remember if he has ever seen Sherlock without his coat.

"You were the one who dived into the river wearing it. No one pushed you."

"No need to be irritable, Theo. I found evidence…"

"Yeah. All right. Do you want to get something to eat?"

"Not hungry."

"Soup then. Or cocoa. Something to warm you up?"

"Digestion interferes with thinking."

Dimmock sighs.

"I could sleep for a week."

"Boring."

"Look. YOU may be able to go for days without eating or sleeping, but I'm just a human being. I'm exhausted."

"All right. Sleep then. Your place or mine?"

"What?"

"Don't be obtuse, Theo."

"Yours then. But I really need to sleep…" 

 

 

 

 

Note: my Tumblr is here:  <http://doctorbillyposts.tumblr.com>


	10. "Get lucky?" "Not really"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimmock ends up in a very bad place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning- there is violence and nastiness ahead, from a surprising source.

Dimmock's phone pings. Sherlock reaches down into the heap of clothes on the floor, finds the phone and thumbs the screen to open the message.

***To: TD: Where are you? GL***

"Hey. That's mine…"

"I was closest. Here. Lestrade."

Sherlock passes Dimmock the phone, settles down again with his head on Dimmock's shoulder, stroking his bare chest. Dimmock replies to the message.

***To: GL: Why? TD***

***To:TD: Briefing at the Yard at ten. Gregson. I swung by to pick you up but you're not home. Obviously. Get lucky? GL***

*** To: GL:None of your business. I'll be there. TD***

Sherlock's phone pings

*** To: SH: Briefing at the Yard. Pick you up in fifteen minutes. GL***

Dimmock blanches.

"Fuck. He's coming here. I need to shower…"

He wriggles out from under Sherlock, searching for his clothes.

"Fuck. You made me come all over my pants. I can't wear these. Lend me some? Christ. And my shirt. Shit. Sherlock? Help, please?"

"Shower. Two minutes. I'll find you a shirt. Can't do pants, though. Don't wear them…"

Dimmock throws himself under the shower, scrubs quickly. Rubs toothpaste over his gums. Spits. Scrubs his hands through his damp hair. No time for niceties. Passes Sherlock on his way back to the bedroom.

His suit trousers and jacket have been brushed and are laid on the bed with a cream shirt, very fine cotton, and a pair of what look like silk socks. No underpants. He'll have to go commando. _Could have been worse_ , he thinks. _Could have been a pink shirt._ He dresses quickly. The shirt sleeves are a bit long, but buttoned tightly under a jacket no one will notice. The collar is loose. His tie will disguise that. _Where is his tie_?

He searches frantically. Finds his tie where it has been kicked under the bed. As semen-stained as his shirt and pants. No tie, then. He'll have to leave the top button of the shirt undone. _Shit. Sherlock bit him_. He peers in the wardrobe mirror. Okay. If he keeps his jacket done up it will maybe hold the collar in place so no one can see the bruise.

The socks are great. He hopes no one will notice he isn't wearing pants. _Of course, Sherlock will know, the big git._ And now Dimmock knows that Sherlock doesn't wear pants…

He pockets his phone and walks through to the kitchen for a glass of water, unnerved by the gentle sway of his penis in his pleat-top trousers as he walks. He shudders at the state of the sink. There don't seem to be any clean cups or glasses. He'll manage without. Pick up a coffee on the way to the yard.

He hears feet on the stairs. Where is Sherlock? The consulting detective comes out of the bedroom, looking as fresh as always, grinning . Stalks across to Dimmock, bends and kisses his mouth just as Lestrade opens the sitting room door. Dimmock blushes, whispers into Sherlock's ear.

"You git. You did that on purpose…thanks for the shirt."

"You're welcome. Cream suits you."

Lestrade stands in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. Foot tapping, eyeing the lovebite on Dimmock's neck.

"When you two lovebirds have quite finished…"

*****

Gregson is making it obvious he is in charge of this briefing, eyeballing Lestrade, daring him to challenge his authority.

Lestrade leans against the wall casually, a faint smile belying his internal worry. This just serves to enrage Gregson more.

"We have a provisional timeline.

_The tattoo parlour was closed for refurbishment, which meant Marco the artist wasn't missed for five weeks._

_We have a major piece of tattoo work which would have taken two or three days to complete, and at least three weeks to heal to the extent we see on our victim, possibly longer. We know that the tattoo healed well, which would indicate that someone with knowledge of tattoo care was probably involved._

Possibly this Marco. Do we have a surname for him yet?"

There is no reply. Gregson continues

_"Dr Wiggins has been missing for nine days now._

_We found one of his distinctive wire and glass rings on the barge at Tower Hill, and some DNA evidence on a shackle, indicating only that he was there_. He was not bleeding all over the place. It is feasible to project that he left the ring deliberately for us to find.

 _Marco was stabbed and dumped overboard only a few hours before he was found. Cause of death was drowning_.

 _Our tattooed victim has been identified as Dr Dara Kerrigan, thirty four, a lecturer in Celtic literature  at Brunel._ Poet, apparently. Folk singer. Bit of a loner. Family in Ireland.

 _Kerrigan was reported missing yesterday when he didn't turn up to teach the first classes of the new semester._ University vacations are obscene to my mind. He could have been, must have been, taken over a month ago, and no one would necessarily have known.

 _Kerrigan resembles Dr Wiggins only in height, build and hair colour. His eyes were brown,and he had distinctive facial features, including a nose broken some years ago, which had healed crooked. It's clear why Kerrigan's eyes were removed. Dr Wiggins has very distinctive eye colouring_. We would have known immediately it wasn't him.

_Kerrigan's face was pulped with a blunt object, disguising the broken nose and knocking the teeth out, again with the obvious intent to delay identification._

_Cause of death blunt force trauma, but there is evidence of starvation and high levels of heroin in his system_.

There was evidence of his DNA on the barge, where he seems to have been restrained, on the needles in the tattoo kit that Mr Holmes here recovered from the Thames, and on several lengths of two-by-four that were found in the attic.

Apart from that, and the trace of Dr Wiggins's DNA on the barge, there is no other DNA, and no fingerprints other than those of our three victims, so we can't at this stage identify a suspect or suspects.

It seems likely that the so-called estuary man killing is linked. So far, we have no clues to his identity. No motive for his murder other than speculation. It is possible he was involved in transporting Dr Kerrigan to Hackney, also possible he was involved in the murder of Dr Kerrigan. We don't yet know how Dr Kerrigan was transported from Tower Hill to Hackney.

Questions? Comments?"

"Three victims?"

Sherlock raises an eyebrow.

"All right. four. I only counted the three murder victims. Dr Wiggins is a probable kidnap victim. Possibly still alive, or why make Kerrigan up to look like him… There's been no ransom note, no contact from the kidnappers at all. I don't like this. I don't like that members of this force are associated with it. We need to find Wiggins…"

"Billy…Er, Dr Wiggins was a member of a group of musicians that jammed together once a fortnight or so. There are some folk musicians in that group…"

"Good, Dimmock. Someone needs to check out the other members of that group. See if they noticed anyone hanging around."

"DI Gregson, has anyone checked river traffic over the last few days? Boats out to the barge? Ships passing in the night? That sort of thing?"

"Thank you Holmes. River police are on to it. I know you have been helpful, but I'm not sure exactly why you are here at my briefing. Please try not to interfere with my officers' work."

"I'm not sure exactly why I'm here either, Gregson. I'll show myself out, shall I?"

*****

"Wait up, Sherlock"

"The man is insufferable. 'Try not to interfere with my officers' work'. If I didn't interfere it would take you twice as long… more".

Gregson had ignored the fact that Sherlock had found the room that Dimmock's team missed. Dimmock doesn't mind that Sherlock found it. He is just grateful that someone found it.

"I know. But he's trying to save face. He probably feels inadequate. Especially now Lestrade is a DCI. Lestrade still gets out in the field. You hardly ever see Gregson out from behind his desk. Come with me to Brunel?"

"All right. But only if you buy me dinner afterwards"

"Okay. What do you like to eat? You had less in your fridge than Billy had in his when he was on his own."

"Food is just fuel. Surprise me."

*****

"Well. This is a surprise."

"You said to surprise you…"

They had interviewed Billy's department head, gaining little information. Sherlock had been appalled at the tidiness of Billy's office. Dimmock had been impressed that Billy merited an office of his own.

They had examined corridor notice boards, finding advertisements for a number of societies, including the jam group Billy had told Dimmock about. They had taken phone numbers and email addresses, managed to track down several members of the rather loose group and arranged some interviews.

The folk group have a gig the following evening. Sherlock and Dimmock will be attending, they will be able to interview the folk musicians they missed at Brunel.

"Well. We've got some leads. We've got a date tomorrow night…"

"A date? Dimmock. We do not have a date."

"Well. We're going to be in a pub, listening to a folk group. For hours. Drinking beer. It's a bit like a date…"

Dimmock giggles.

"You should see your face. I've never seen anyone look quite so appalled. Don't worry. I won't try to take advantage of you…"

"That's not what I'm worried about. You taking advantage of me could be quite… interesting. It's the thought of the folk music and beer that's appalling."

"I could take advantage of you now. I know you're not wearing any pants…"

"Do you?"

"Yeah. You told me you couldn't lend me any because you don't wear them…. _Oh, you bastard_. You lied to me. You've made me go fucking commando all fucking day. I've been _SQUIRMING_. You git. Just for that, you get the double decker burger with cheese. And gherkins."

"Oh, no. Save me."

They both laugh. Dimmock had found the 'fifties-American-style diner a few weeks before. Had wanted to eat there, but not by himself. It is a train carriage, chrome and glass and shiny red paint. With booths and swivel stools at the counter. A Wurlitzer jukebox and a soda fountain. Not cheap, but the food turns out to be surprisingly good. And Sherlock eats most of Dimmock's chips after refusing to order any for himself.

"Theo. Can we go to your flat tonight?"

"I've only got a bedsit. Single bed. Won't be as comfortable as your bed…"

"Surely you can afford something bigger? A Detective Inspector's salary must be enough to…"

"Yeah. I could pay a mortgage. It's the deposit that's a problem, in London. I'm saving up. Got a fair way to go. Living costs are high here, so I can't save that much. I haven't been a DI that long. I fancy a place in docklands. There's some really nice warehouse conversions. But I'd need about fifty grand for a deposit. I've got twenty six saved. By the time I've got enough, prices will have gone up, of course…"

"Let's go cuddle up in your single bed. It'll be cosy."

"All right."

*****

Dimmock lies in the dark, Sherlock's arms around him, holding him tight in the narrow bed. The two men have made love, Sherlock fucking Dimmock gently, climaxing together with him. Dimmock cries quietly.

"Theo. What's wrong?"

"No one's ever treated me this gently. I've always just been Dora the poof who likes to take it up the arse. It's been a long time since I've been with someone even half this considerate."

"Surely Billy…"

"He's not very experienced. Gets a bit carried away. He's not nasty though. Some are. I don't generally go with people I know. I made the mistake of having a fling with my sergeant when I was a DC in Wiltshire. Never again. Nicks are the worst places for gossip. And harassment. Although I would have if Lestrade had been interested when I first went to the Yard. Course, he wasn't interested. Just as well, really."

"I would have, too. With Lestrade, I mean. Nearly did once. But he punched me. He was with Billy then. I didn't know. He's frantic, isn't he?"

"Yeah. I'm worried too. It's bad when a case is personal. I'd not been with Billy long. Only a few weeks. I lived on his boat for weeks without touching him. We got together after I'd moved out. It took him forever to get over Greg dumping him. Now Greg's going to want him back. If we find him. He'll go back, I know. He really loves him. I was a bit of a comfort, I suppose. He was lonely."

*****

***To: TD:Would you please check on the SeaGlass? I worry about it being left empty. Perhaps get rid of rubbish? Mouldy teacups? See if anything is missing? MH***

***To: TD:I will leave a set of keys at Scotland Yard. MH***

***To: MH: OK. Later today. Is it still ok for me to use the DeLorean? TD***

***To: TD: Yes. It is yours for as long as you want it. It will only rust in the garage if you don't use it. MH***

***To:TD: I have had statements from various bank accounts. Dr Wiggins or someone posing as him withdrew money from his Scottish expense account yesterday in Chelsea. I have informed Lestrade. MH***

***To: TD: I notice you have not made much use of your own expenses for your bodyguard work. The money is yours, Theodore . You earned it. Spend it on something nice. MH***

***To: GL: Heard from Holmes. Chelsea? TD***

***To: TD:On it. Going through CCTV. You and Sherlock carry on with the folk singers for now. I'll let you know if anything changes. GL***

***To: GL: Keep me informed. I need data. SH***

***To: SH: Talk to Dimmock. GL***

"Theo? What was in those messages?"

"I was just about to tell you. Billy's Scottish expense account was accessed yesterday in Chelsea. Clever of him to give them the PIN for that account. It raised flags with your brother. Lestrade's going through CCTV records. Mycroft wants me to check over Billy's boat. Surely someone has already done that?"

"Yes. I did. But he must think I missed something. Or he's found something and doesn't want to be involved. Get dressed. We should go quickly."

"Okay. I need to check my bank account, too. I forgot I had a fee for the body guarding work. Want to check how much I've got left. I only really used it to fill up the car."

"Um. Theo…could you lend me some pants? And a t-shirt? Your shirt sleeves will be short on me…"

"I ought to make you go commando…"

"If you insist…"

They both laugh.

"You need a new overcoat. That beige one does absolutely nothing for you. Navy blue, crombie style. And blue suits. Klein blue would be very good with your colouring. Or navy, French blue. Shirts. Cream, pink, ice blue."

"I'm not a doll, Sherlock. I can choose my own clothes. I'd out myself to the general public if I wore a Klein blue suit for a press conference. Or pink shirts."

"Afraid, Theo?"

"Yeah. But you're probably right about my coat. The one I've got is too much like Gregson's".

*****

"Oh, no. This can't be right…"

"What is it, Theo?"

Sherlock hears Dimmock muttering under his breath as he looks through papers on Billy's desk.

"It's Billy's sketchbook. He never goes anywhere without his current one, and this is it. He left it here on purpose. Look. Oh god, we've wasted a week…"

The last few sketches are of groups of people in a pub. A band onstage, fronted by a tall, dark-haired singer. Dara Kerrigan. A group of young people near the stage, looking like students. A couple of older professor-types, sitting at a table at the side of the crowded room, a mirror above them. In the mirror, reflections of a few people around the corner of the bar. Two women, a blond man with a crooked nose.

There is a small supplementary sketch. A more detailed drawing of the blond man.

"That's not possible. He's dead.…"

"Who, what? What did I miss, Theo?"

"It's Knox. One of estuary man's gang. He was supposed to have been shot in France. The only reason we felt able to leave Billy unguarded was because Knox was dead. Knox is the guy that mutilated Lestrade, remember? And injured Billy, prior to that. You were involved in tracking him down, I think? You wouldn't have known about the sketchbook, 'Lock. Billy left this so we'd know Knox was alive and stalking him. I have to get this to the Yard. Come on".

*****

"Fuck it, Dimmock. A week. We've wasted a WEEK. Why did Sherlock go over the boat? Why didn't you do it?"

Lestrade is furious. Dimmock is defensive. 

"Why didn't you?"

"Stop it, you two. Arguing won't help."

The small group of unofficial investigators has been quickly convened. Logan is acting conciliator.

"We know now that Tom Knox is alive and apparently well. Was definitely in the same bar as Billy and Kerrigan. It's likely he noticed the superficial physical resemblance between them when he saw them together. Mycroft, you'll need to look at your people. They reported him killed, didn't they? Could have been a mistake, of course. But your people aren't usually careless…"

"Indeed. I have begun an investigation, Jack. Lestrade, were you able to get anything useful from the CCTV in Chelsea?"

"Nothing conclusive. Someone used the cashpoint at the right time, but details are vague. They wore a hood, gloves, dark, nondescript clothing. Nothing distinctive. I got the feeling it was a man. Had to stoop over the keypad. The only thing I can say is that there was no hesitation in using the PIN, so they weren't reading it. They'd memorised it. Took out £200 .… I drew cash out of that account a couple of times. £200 each time…"

Lestrade's detective senses are starting to tingle.

"Something feels wrong about this. I need more data…"

Sherlock's senses are also tingling vaguely.

"Theo. We need to talk about the folk club this evening. I think we should make some plans…"

"You think he'll be there?"

"Hmm. Maybe. Greg, Logan, you both need to keep a very low profile today. Mycroft, set Anthea on Lestrade. Don't leave him unguarded. Theo and I will go to the club. Hopefully, he won't recognise us. If he shows. There aren't many other leads. Backup might be useful. He's slippery."

*****

"Wow. You look like a hipster."

Sherlock scrutinises himself in the mirror. Tight grey jeans, slightly scuffed on the seams. Soft black ankle boots. White cotton shirt, loose, black knit cardigan, red/black checked bow tie. Horn-rimmed glasses. Hair tumbling in curls beneath a brimmed felt hat. He smiles.

"I think I'll do. You look good, too. Like a student. Those colours suit you."

Dimmock wears black skinny jeans and boots, a loose hand-knitted jumper striped in mustard, burnt orange, dark brown. A brown knit slouch hat covers his short hair. He slings a battered tan satchel over his shoulder. There are papers and a couple of books, and, hidden at the bottom, his Heckler and Koch pistol. He stuffs a small tube of lube and some condoms into his back pocket.

They go to the pub by tube, to maintain their cover. By the time they arrive, the gig is well under way. The band are playing an electro-folk version of Mr Tambourine Man.

Sherlock leads the way into the bar, grabbing a seat that has just been vacated by a striking, tousled-haired mixed race woman. Dimmock recognises Sergeant Sally Donovan but does not acknowledge her. His phone vibrates as he waits at the bar for drinks.

***To: TD: Your bloke arrived a few minutes ago. He's near the door to the garden. SD***

***To: SD: Thanks Sally. See you later, I hope. TD***

Dimmock pushes through the crowd towards Sherlock.

"I see you've bagged a seat. Budge up a bit?"

"It's not big enough for two. You can sit on my lap if you want. "

"No thanks. I'll stand."

He effects a sulky pout, drinking half his beer in one gulp and looking around, catching the eye of one or two people, holding the gaze of a fair-haired man in a blue cardigan for a beat too long. He blushes and looks away. Sherlock watches the band, tight lipped, drinking steadily, flicking an angry look at Dimmock every time he scans the room.

"I need another drink."

Dimmock is flushed, bright eyed. He starts to walk towards the bar. Sherlock stands, grabs his wrist.

"You're drinking too much…"

"Get off me. You're not my mum."

He shakes Sherlock off, swaggering to the bar, rolling his eyes at the man in blue, who has followed him to the bar. The band strike up a Simon and Garfunkel tune. Dimmock shakes his head. Changes direction, walking towards the garden door. Speaking loudly enough for the man in blue to hear.

"I need a cigarette. Can't listen to this."

He steps out into the garden, the man in blue following, neither of them taking any notice of a blond man with a crooked nose lounging by the door. The man in blue grabs Dimmock, swinging him round and pinning him against the wall.

"I reckon you need more than a cigarette, darlin'. What's your name, then? "

"Theodore…"

"Call you Dora, do they? Come on then, Dora."

He crushes his mouth down on Dimmock's, forcing his tongue between his teeth. Pushes a knee between Dimmock's legs, unbuttons his jeans and forces his hand into Dimmock's pants.

"Come on. Not playing solo here."

"Wait. I've got condoms…"

The man laughs.

"Don't want a condom, sweetie. Want to feel your nice little cock. Stick my big one down your throat."

Dimmock starts to struggle. The man in blue is really strong, and holds him in place, dragging his own cock out of his pants, shafting it to get it hard. Dimmock yelps, struggles harder, bites the man's wrist to make him let go of him. The man hisses, punches Dimmock in the stomach, making him double over, then grabs him by the back of the neck, forcing him to his knees, forcing his head down onto his cock, punching him again in the ribs to make him open his mouth. Thrusts hard against the back of his throat.

Dimmock is gasping and crying now, trying hard to breathe, to get away. The man punches him in the face, knocking him down, then tucks himself away.

"You're not worth the effort, Dora."

He walks back inside, is swallowed by the crowd. Dimmock sags against the wall, chest heaving with sobs, snot and blood running down his face.

"Here."

A soft, light Scottish voice. The blond man who has been standing by the door helps him to his feet, hands him a handkerchief.

"Thought I was going to get more of a show there. Pity. He was a bit of a git, wasn't he? Name's Tom. You're really called Dora?"

"N-n-n-no. Theodore. Thanks. Got a cigarette?"

Dimmock's voice is hoarse. His throat hurts. He has a dreadful pain in his side. He trembles. The assault had been unexpected. Had frightened him. 

"Theodore? Bit poncey isn't it?"

He lights a cigarette. Takes a drag, hands it over. Hands Dimmock a bottled beer. Dimmock takes it gratefully, drinks half of it down.

"Blame my mum. She wouldn't let anyone shorten it. I need to sit down…"

"Here. Let me look at your poor mouth. It's bleeding."

Tom dabs at Dimmock's mouth, making him wince. Then kisses the cut. Not too gently.

"What are you doing?"

"Making it feel better. Drink the rest of your beer".

Dimmock drinks, feeling suddenly woozy.

"I feel a bit sick. Need to go back inside, Tom"

"Not yet. You came out here to get shagged. I'm going to shag you till you can't stand up."

He drags Dimmock further into the garden, forces him to kneel in front of a bench, elbows on the seat. Dimmock heaves and throws up over his own arms as Tom yanks down his jeans and pants, spits on his arse, then forces his already hard cock into him, using only the spit as lubricant.

Dimmock screams. Tom slaps the side of his head, leans forward and grabs his throat to silence him. Dimmock faints.

*****

Sherlock is starting to get worried. Dimmock hasn't given the signal they had agreed on. The band start playing their final number, Man of Constant Sorrow. He sees the blond man step out into the darkness. Watches the man in blue come in from the garden and lose himself in the crowd. He hears Dimmock scream. Runs for the door, scrabbling in the bottom of Dimmock's bag as he goes. The man in blue appears at his elbow.

"Theodore? Are you out here? You okay?"

Tom swears. It is the boyfriend. He runs for the rear wall of the garden, Sherlock and the man in blue see him run and follow. Over the wall, down an alleyway. Gunshots ring out and he drops. Sherlock has his phone out, calling for backup. Sally Donovan is there in moments, cuffing Tom and giving him first aid for the wound in his leg.

"Whose gun is that?"

"Dimmock's. It's legal."

"So why have you got it? Where's Inspector Dimmock?"

Sherlock looks around, expecting to see Dimmock. Surprised when he doesn't.

"How hard did you hit him, John?"

The man in blue, Watson, smiles tightly, carefully tucking his Sig Sauer away before Donovan notices it.

"Hard enough to be convincing. But he was on his feet and talking. Let's go and find him."

"I'll go. You stay here and make sure this man doesn't escape. He's already got away from my brother twice."

*****

"Theo. Theo, wake up, please."

Dimmock lies on his side, eyes closed. He has been hospitalised, been operated on. He is awake, has been for ages, but is damned if he will speak to Sherlock or Watson.

"It's no good, Sherlock. He's conscious, but obviously doesn't want to talk. Did you tell him exactly what you were expecting to happen?"

"The gist…"

"Right. Okay. That's more than a bit not good, Sherlock. You've been romancing the poor sod for days, now it looks as if you arranged for him to get beaten up and raped. Well done."

"It wasn't like that, John. You're making it sound as if I wanted him to get hurt. We didn't even know about Knox when…"

Watson interrupts. He knows things went too far. Doesn't want to think about why.

"I'm going to ask Sally to see if she can get him to talk. We need a proper debrief. And you and I need to go and see Mycroft. The bullet in Knox's leg won't match Dimmock's gun. Come on".

Watson stalks out of the hospital room, Sherlock following.

Dimmock hears the door open again. Quiet footsteps approaching the bed. A sigh as the visitor sits down. Lestrade.

"Talk to me, T. Please."

Dimmock opens one eye. The other is swollen shut. He groans as he tries to roll over so he can see the DCI. A mass of red and green meets his gaze.

"Roses?"

His throat hurts, his voice sounds like a stranger's, hoarse and gravelly.

"Yeah. Didn't think you'd be up to eating chocolates yet."

"You big softy. Thanks. They're nice. Help me sit up? Carefully, please."

Lestrade puts the roses on the end of the bed. Leans forward to put his arms under the younger mans armpits and helps him to half-sit, arranging pillows to support his back. He brushes his mouth across Dimmock's undamaged ear before straightening.

"We need to talk, T."

Lestrade looks tired.

"Did they get him?"

"Yes. What on earth were you playing at? The man's a lunatic. I thought you would have learned from what happened to me…"

"I didn't think it would go that far. Sherlock made it seem like a simple play-act, pretend to be frightened of John, shout for Sherlock when Knox showed his hand, let John and Sherlock take him down. They had the guns. It should have been straightforward."

"What happened?"

"John really frightened me. He hit me hard. Broke a rib. Ruptured my spleen. Held me by the neck and fucked my mouth. Hit me in the mouth. Broke a tooth. I was more scared of him than I was of Knox. I won't talk to him. You can't make me."

Lestrade is horrified. Watson was a soldier. He should have been disciplined, not let his instincts take over. Probably let jealousy over Sherlock and Dimmock's brief affair rule his head.

"So most of these injuries are from _JOHN_?"

"The worst ones. Knox doped me. Roofies. I've been there before, knew what it was. I sicked it up as quickly as I could. I've got a bit of tolerance to it…"

"My god, T. What sort of life have you had?"

"Pillow-biter. Since I was fourteen, on and off. I've had three boyfriends. But only one long term one. When I was a DC. Before I came to the Yard. Didn't last. Sherlock and Billy don't really count, do they?"

"I'm sorry, mate. I didn't know. You must have been so lonely. Why didn't you come and talk to me?"

"Because I wanted to keep it quiet. People are frightened the queer will rub off on them… Knox raped me, Greg. Sherlock didn't get to him quick enough, and I was woozy. I've got a tear. I'm fucking sore all over. Some of the bruises on my neck are from him, some from John. Knox hit me on the side of the head. Perforated my eardrum, I think. Lucky I'm not deaf. Thing that hurts most was Sherlock must have told John about the Yarders calling me Dora. That's what he called me while he was hurting me. I told him that in confidence…"

"Sherlock doesn't respect confidences. He uses whatever weapons he can find. I live in fear of things he could use against me. I think he thought you might not be a convincing actor."

"He didn't trust me enough to let me try. He's back with John, isn't he? Those nights he spent with me were just setting me up. I thought he was acting different. More human. I'm so stupid."

"I don't think so, T. We didn't know about Knox, remember? I think he really wanted to spend time with you. John probably got jealous. He's got a bit of a temper. He shouldn't have done this, though. This is way beyond what was needed."

Lestrade gathers Dimmock into his arms, holds him while he cries. Lets go as soon as the young DI tenses.

"Sir. I think Billy's hiding out somewhere. I think he got away, and that's why Knox was hanging around his known haunts. I think he went back to the boat to leave his sketchbook. Or got someone to do it for him. He's street-smart. He knows how to hide."

"I think that, too. He's left clues to let us know he's all right. The book, the £200 from his expenses, the ring on the barge. I've alerted a few of the homeless network. They'll let him know that Knox has been caught. He'll surface soon, I expect. Sherlock's looking for him as well."

"Sir. I need to talk to Mycroft. Can you ask him to come and see me?"

"Yeah. Stop calling me sir, T. I'm Greg to you. Anyone else you want to see? "

"No. I'll talk to Sally Donovan after I've spoken to Mycroft. I'll see Logan, Mycroft, Sally and you. And Billy, when he surfaces, of course. I won't see or talk to John or Sherlock. I understand that might affect the type of cases I get when I come back to work, but I'm sorry, I can't talk to them. "

"T. No friends? Family?"

"No. Haven't got any of those."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry…
> 
> I considered chopping this into a couple of shorter chapters, but in the end, I decided to leave it. Dimmock is going to be okay.
> 
>  
> 
> The folk band playlist, to cheer us up, possibly:
> 
> Bob Dylan: Mr Tambourine Man: [http://youtu.be/7F2H6hfroD](http://youtu.be/7F2H6hfroDI)
> 
> Simon & Garfunkel: The Boxer: [http://youtu.be/ky57Jo3-Ba](http://youtu.be/ky57Jo3-BaU)
> 
> Alison Krauss & Union Station: Man of Constant Sorrow: <http://youtu.be/QQBdj4-3610>


	11. Needle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimmock gets a bit pissed off with Mycroft. Lestrade is not annoyed with Billy.

Dimmock lies in bed, trying to sleep. The new painkillers they have put him on work really well for killing pain, but don't give him the benefit of the drowsiness he usually gets from morphine or codeine.

His room, in a private hospital Mycroft has moved him to, is not quite dark. He can see the outline and catch the fragrance of Lestrade's roses, just beginning to fade. They are lovely, but why has the DCI given them to him? Should he be reading anything into it?

He sighs, shifting to ease the stiffness in his side where the rib is healing. His eardrum has turned out not to be perforated after all. That is a relief. He won't be prone to ear infections, won't go deaf. His teeth have been attended to; one reimplanted and the broken one screwed and crowned. The dentist has done a great job with that, it matches his natural teeth perfectly. He has been reassured that he can function perfectly well without a spleen. His swollen eye is back to normal with only a slight trace of greenish-yellow bruising. His throat is mercifully undamaged, and his voice is his own again.

He has had a long and very heated conversation with Mycroft, demanding that John Watson be charged for physically and sexually assaulting him. Mycroft had been very apologetic, but demurred, on the grounds that such charges could compromise his investigation of his own people, and undermine the well-being of his brother. He had also pointed out that Sherlock's set-up reeked of entrapment, which Knox's solicitors would seize upon.

Dimmock has not taken that news at all well, but knows that if a killing carried out some years ago can be swept under the carpet, then an assault on a promiscuous gay man certainly can, especially when the only witness is hostile.

Mycroft has not told Dimmock that Knox is being held in a government facility, that he is technically not under arrest. Dimmock will figure that out for himself, later.

By way of compensation, or out of guilty conscience, and with his usual habit of making the grand gesture, Mycroft has done some legal magic, finding an estate agent, solicitor and mortgage lender, and Dimmock is now the proud, if absent, owner of a small three-floor warehouse conversion in Tobacco Dock. His fee for being bodyguard to Billy, added to his previous savings, had been ample for a deposit on the property. Mycroft has also made over the DeLorean to him as a gift. Dimmock suspects that this is out of shame at the way his brother screwed him over.

He sighs again, plugs earbuds into his ears, cues up a playlist of melancholy songs, his "misery list", and closes his eyes to listen to Roy Orbison. He dozes a little, half-waking to the sound of Fleetwood Mac, feeling the warmth of a body beside him, snuggling into him, taking one of his earbuds to share the music. He dozes again, smiling. Comes fully awake at the sound of a quiet, roughened voice.

"Bloody hell, Theo. Is this AC/DC?"

"Billy?"

"Yeah. Ssh. Don't want the world to know I'm here yet. Mister Lestrade's going to be furious at me soon enough."

"He won't be furious. He's been frantic, searching for you. "

"He'll be furious, Theo. I'm back on the needle…"

"Knox shot you up?"

"Yeah. Came unstuck though. Thought it would subdue me like it did poor Dara. He didn't know enough of my history. Didn't give me enough. Well, gave me enough to make me high and make me want more. He didn't tie me up well enough either. Amateur. I only had to break a couple of fingers to get out of the shackle."

Billy's voice is too bright.

"Are you high now, Billy?"

"Yeah. A bit. Just taking enough to take the edge off the craving. I'll need to be locked up, I suppose. Mister Lestrade got me off it last time. Don't know if he'll be inclined to do it again. I couldn't help Dara, Theo. I knew what they were going to do and I couldn't help him…"

His voice breaks and he sobs. Dimmock puts his arm around him awkwardly.

"I can't hug you properly, Billy. I've got a broken rib…"

"I know. I heard what happened to you. I'm so sorry, Theo. It's all my fault…"

"Of course it's not your fault. It's mostly John Watson's fault. And a bit Sherlock's…"

Dimmock explains how everything had gone wrong.

"That's why I'm not going to be talking to either of them for a long time. I might never talk to Watson again."

Billy is shaking by the time Dimmock has finished explaining what happened. He looks at Dimmock's cannula hopefully.

"You got morphine in that drip?"

"No, mate. You're out of luck. Some clever bastard invented a painkiller that you can't get high on…"

Dimmock laughs at Billy's expression of disbelief.

"No. They're using it? Really? In a hospital? Does it work?"

"What do you mean ' _does it work_ '? It's good. Really effective against pain. But you don't get drowsy. Or happy. It's okay if you're not already feeling too sorry for yourself. "

"I know it works. In my head. But I've not used it myself, and trials are always blind, so I haven't had any proper feedback from actual people. I never had a chance to talk to Sherlock about it. No side-effects?"

"Not that I'm aware of. It's good, Billy. You're brilliant, you know."

"Not feeling so brilliant at the moment. I was clean for years…"

"Billy, how many of them were there? We caught Knox. You know that or you'd still be hiding. Who else?"

"Just the two that I saw. Estuary man and Knox. Estuary man won't be so easy to find, but he's not so vindictive as Knox."

"Estuary man is dead, Billy. He was the victim at my crime scene the night we found Dara Kerrigan. Lestrade and Jackie Logan identified him."

"I don't know if there was anyone else. I don't think so. Did Knox off him?"

"Don't know."

They sit in silence for a little while. Billy shuffles closer, trying to be careful of Dimmock's ribs. Dimmock smiles, hugs him as tightly as he can without hurting himself. 

"Billy, why would Lestrade give me roses?"

"Are they from him? Soft git. Mycroft gave me flowers once. Mister Lestrade was really surprised at how much I liked them. Maybe he remembered. He's so nice…"

Tears fill Billy's eyes.

"I still love him, Theo. I'm completely fucked up…"

"Come here. Lie down and listen to the music. This is my favourite misery song at the moment. I think it's going to be my karaoke song. It's a duet though. Need someone to sing it with…"

Dimmock sings quietly

" _Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over/ but had me believing it was always something that I'd done/"_

He laughs, softly. _"Screwed me over is right"_.

Billy picks up the chorus

" _But you didn't have to cut me off / Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing /_ "

Billy laughs quietly.

"You should definitely learn that for the Yarders' karaoke at Christmas. You've got exactly the right voice for it. I'll sing it with you if I'm invited. Or get Mister Lestrade to do it. He's got a great voice. My song would be Hallelujah. Probably the Leonard Cohen version. Just because it's so long it would piss everyone off. "

Dimmock tries not to laugh. Singing has already hurt his ribs. 

"I like kd lang's version."

"She's got a terrific voice. But Cohen's has got more verses. The last three verses make me cry. Most versions chop them out."

They talk about music for a little while. It is safe ground. Eventually, they doze off cuddled up together.

*****

Dimmock wakes to full daylight. Opens his eyes to the sight of Lestrade staring at the sleeping Billy. He still has his phone in his hand, so unplugs his earbuds and motions Lestrade to set his own phone on silent. He sends him an instant message.

***Don't want to disturb him.***

***Okay. How long has he been here?***

***Couple of hours. He's terrified you'll be furious with him.***

***Why?***

***Knox shot him up with heroin. He's been using while he's been hiding out. He was high when he turned up here.***

***Fuck***

***He'll need a fix when he wakes up***

***Not annoyed with him***

***Broke 2 fingers. Getting out of shackles***

***Anything else?***

***Only 2 kidnappers. Knox and estuary man. Call Mycroft***

***Will do. Back shortly. DONT LET HIM LEAVE***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dimmock's misery list
> 
> Roy Orbison: Only the lonely: <http://youtu.be/UTR2IlAJEyQ>
> 
> Fleetwood Mac: Need your love so bad: <http://youtu.be/RtmW2ek7WkQ>
> 
> AC/DC: Ride on: <http://youtu.be/TdC0QtR_Kwc>
> 
> Gotye: Somebody that I used to know: <http://youtu.be/8UVNT4wvIGY>
> 
>  
> 
> Two versions of Hallelujah to torture yourselves with. I like them both.
> 
> Leonard Cohen: Hallelujah: <http://youtu.be/2FpwjQLZTTs>
> 
> k d lang: Hallelujah : <http://youtu.be/YYiMJ2bC65A>


	12. Heliotrope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy and Lestrade are finally in the same place. Could this be a happy ending?

  
 "Right then. Let's get this show on the road."

Lestrade is in his element. Dimmock's kitchen is equipped with a Lacanche triple-oven range in baked-bean-tin turquoise. Almost everything else is white, apart from the floor, which is canal-water green resin, so dark it is almost black, so shiny it is almost mirror-like.

A large distressed table divides the kitchen from the sitting area. Surrounded with mis-matched chairs, it will seat eight comfortably. Billy has made a chandelier to hang over the table. He loved the Orangina-bottle chandelier in their Scottish kitchen, and wanted to make one for the SeaGlass, but has nobly put Dimmock's first on his list. The design he has produced consists of twenty five coca cola bottles suspended from a bicycle wheel, the red text on the bottles contrasting perfectly with the turquoise cooker. It took him a day to make and install as a housewarming present. Dimmock loves it.

The sitting end of the room has two large vintage sofas, one in a nondescript greenish grey leather, the other in a similar colour, but velvet. Each is large enough to accommodate an overnight guest. Piles of throws and cushions add to the feeling of comfort.

It is early May, and Dimmock's first night in the house. He has invited Billy and Lestrade over to help him settle in. Mycroft had expressed an interest in seeing the house and has brought Logan along for moral support. Dimmock likes Logan, can tolerate Mycroft. Their relationship is slowly beginning to improve.

Lestrade has offered to cook, and makes chilli; cubes of fragrant, spiced beef, tomatoes, peppers, beans. He dumps the cooking pot on a cast-iron trivet on the table, with a pile of flatbreads and a bowl of salad. Logan grabs a bottle of tequila and some Sol beers from the fridge, laughs at Mycroft's raised eyebrows and chops limes into wedges, piling them on a shallow dish of sea salt. Salsa, sour cream and nachos complete the meal.

"This is brilliant, Greg. Didn't realise you were such a good cook."

Dimmock is on his second bowlful of chilli.

"He's especially good at things you have to eat with your fingers…"

Billy laughs.

"Although Mr Logan's not too bad at that either. Everyone needs to have a Logan-style Christmas breakfast."

"Knew you'd like this. Needed to tempt you to eat more than half a bowl of cornflakes…"

Lestrade smiles at Billy. He is very impressed with the young man's progress in getting back off heroin. This will be his fourteenth day without the drug, and although still craving, he is finally beginning to get his appetite back.

"Mister Lestrade. I need to go back to work. I've got two lectures to give next week, and I need to prepare them. They've already been cancelled once. I'll be in breach of contract if I don't give them. Can you trust me yet?"

"Of course I trust you, Billy. But are you sure you're ready to go back? You've had a bit of an ordeal…"

"The longer I leave it, the harder it will be."

"When are the lectures?"

"Tuesday morning and Friday afternoon. I need to contact the band as well. Apologise for letting them down and let them know about my fingers. I won't be playing for a while yet.…"

"They know. Dimmock contacted them when you were missing. Thought you wouldn't want them to think you'd let them down on purpose. Can you leave going back till Monday? Phone your professor tomorrow. When do you think you'll be ready to go back, T?"

"I've got another week. I could run you to Brunel on Monday, if you like, Billy. And pick you up?"

"Yeah. Thanks Theo."

The evening is relaxed. The food is good, the beer and tequila warm them all, and loosen up some of the tension they have all felt over the last few weeks. They take turns in choosing songs from their various playlists, singing along, laughing. Lestrade catches himself thinking how much Watson would have enjoyed being there, then remembers with sadness the reason why neither he nor Sherlock would have been welcome.

Eventually, Mycroft and Logan leave, collected by a big black car. Billy's symptoms have intensified throughout the evening and he is craving so badly he can't make polite conversation any longer. He makes excuses and goes upstairs to lie down on Dimmock's bed, clutching a hot water bottle to his belly. He is obviously going to need to stay overnight. Lestrade is going nowhere without him.

Dimmock and Lestrade are left contemplating the very large elephant in the room.

"Greg. Are you and Billy back together? I mean…what are we going to do about sleeping arrangements?"

"You and Billy had a thing going, before… I can sleep on the sofa."

"But you've been sharing a bed since he came back? On the boat?"

"No. I've just been keeping an eye on him. He hasn't been sleeping much. I've slept on the couch, mostly. I tried that hammock a couple of times…"

Dimmock laughs. He remembers the hammock.

"Greg. It's been months since Knox… have you been with anyone else?"

"No. I don't know if I can. Haven't dared try. Not while he was missing… I was frantic. I'm still worried about him. He lets me cuddle him, but I'm not sure he's really comfortable. It's like it was when we first went to Scotland, I can't keep my hands off him… I want…I don't know what I'm feeling, Theo. I hurt him badly when I broke off the engagement. He hasn't tried to initiate anything since he's been back. And he came to you first, not me. I'll be okay down here."

"I'll sleep on the other sofa. He needs to make any decisions that need making."

*****

Billy wakes up twitchy, needing a fix. He sighs. No chance of that here. And he knows it's just his body that's craving.

He slips downstairs to the kitchen, fills the kettle and makes tea. Jumps when Lestrade comes up behind him quietly, kissing his ear.

"Make me one?"

Billy grabs a second cup, pours water on a tea bag for Lestrade, adds milk and sugar, then carries both cups out onto the terrace, closing the door quietly so as not to disturb Dimmock.

He lights a cigarette, raising an eyebrow when Lestrade takes it, dragging smoke deep into his lungs before giving it back.

"Can't sleep?"

"No. Cravings. Sorry, Mister Lestrade. Didn't mean to disturb you"

Lestrade comes up behind him, wraps his arms around him, kisses his ear again.

"I missed you so much. And it was my own stupid fault. Are you and Theo going to be together?"

"I don't think so. I never stopped loving you. I was lonely…I missed you. "

"Billy. I… I'm not what I was. I'm scarred…it doesn't look or feel the same…I don't know if I'll be able to…"

"Let me see."

"Please, Billy…"

"Mister Lestrade. The last thing I remember before you sent me away is you being cut. The blood. I wake up sweating, expecting to have blood up to my elbows. You haven't let me near you since then. I imagine all sorts of things. _Let me see_ , please…"

Lestrade groans. He's been so wound up in his own distress, he hasn't thought of Billy's.

"It played on my mind a lot. I felt castrated. I had a counsellor, she put me in touch with a victim support group. There are ways of what they call "retaking power" over wounds. A lot of victims get tattoos over their scars. Mostly they have flesh-coloured ink, but some have designs. I had one done. While you were missing…it helped a bit…".

Sea glass eyes widen in astonishment. 

"You let someone tattoo your _KNOB_?"

"Oh, my god. You're shocked. Doctor inked arse."

"Now you've got to let me see. Wait. Who drew your flash?"

"You did"

"No."

Billy laughs

"I think I would have remembered drawing flash for your knob."

"It's mostly my belly. A bit on my leg. Just the very base of my dick. You left your sketchbook for us to find. There was a picture of me in my leathers, leaning against a wall with these purple flowers growing over it. There was a strand of leaves and flowers, vine type of thing. I photocopied it."

"Who did the inking?"

"A very nice, very gentle Japanese lady. She tattoos breast cancer survivors mostly. But it still fucking hurt. You never told me how much it hurts…"

"You know I do it for the pain. It's your penis, Greg. Even the gentlest touch with a needle there would hurt. Even I'm not brave enough for that."

He huffs out a little laugh.

"I need some more, though. Don't know what to have. Maybe something on my feet. Except, Marco…is Marco dead?"

Lestrade hugs him.

"Yeah. I'm sorry, Billy. This has been a nasty business."

"Theo came with me when Marco did my shoulder blade. It freaked him out. He thinks I should have stopped at the feathers. He's never had a drugs craving. Let me see."

He turns and pulls down Lestrade's zip. Pushes down his jeans and pants. Smiles. Lestrade trembles, eyes closed, as Billy gently strokes his cock.

"Heliotrope. The flowers are called heliotrope. The colour too. She got the colour right. That's difficult. It's beautiful."

He bends and kisses along the tattoo-covered scar, from hip to belly to opposite thigh. Lestrade shudders, growing painfully hard. The tight band of scar tissue across the base of his penis is covered by the tattoo, hidden when he is flaccid. Aroused, it is more evident.

"You see what happens? And it aches…"

"But it works. You get hard…"

Billy strokes the underneath of Lestrade's cock.

"There's no scar here. He didn't cut you here. It will ache less when your tattoo settles. The lines are still raised."

He drops to his knees, gently taking the tip of Lestrade's cock into his mouth, sucking and licking, taking more at each suck. Lestrade groans, deep in his chest, gasps as Billy draws his entire length into his mouth. He grasps Billy's shoulders, aware of his fear of being pulled down by his hair. Billy moans, shivering as he feels Lestrade's balls tighten.

"Billy, Billy. Fuck. I'm going to…"

Billy draws back a little, chokes a bit, spluttering as Lestrade comes in his mouth. He swallows, letting go. Lestrade pulls him to his feet, kisses his mouth, tasting his own semen. Salty, slightly bitter.

"I thought you would never do that. Thought you were afraid."

Lestrade's eyes shine as he gazes at Billy in wonder.

"I know you wouldn't hurt me. It was a bit quick.  I'm not very good at it…"

"You were wonderful. I've never felt anything like that. That was the first time…"

"Didn't your wife…?"

"No. She wouldn't. In my experience, women don't want to. Course, that's just my experience. Maybe I didn't pick the right women… God. I've wasted almost all my entire sex life looking in the wrong direction…"

"If you hadn't, you probably would never have picked me. You'd have been happy with someone like Jackie Logan. Or Mycroft."

"I could be happy with you…"

"Take me home later?"

"Okay."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's leave them to make a fresh start. 
> 
> They'll be back…


End file.
